Thirty Years Later
by Evil Shall Giggle
Summary: It is three decades after Artemis's death, something that Holly's never quite gotten over. On her first vacation since moving to Atlantis City, she stumbles across a strangely familiar boy with black hair and very, very blue eyes. Orion Award nominee.
1. Prologue: 30 Years Later

**Atlantis City, the Lower Elements**

Holly's apartment in Atlantis, while not as spacious as her previous one in Haven, was pleasant. It was situated near the top floor of its building, overlooking the large lake covered in floating markets that made up the city's centre square. It had a bathroom, one bedroom, a nice living room, a kitchen—which, though small, was large enough—and of course, a television: everything a single elf needed in her home. Said apartment had been well lived in over the past twenty five years, being as Holly almost never left it, except to go to work every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday at the local library.

It was when she realized that sad fact, that she decided it was most certainly time for a vacation.

Holly made short work of finding a surface tour that appealed to her, and after reserving her spot, she packed her bags and headed out. The tour left that afternoon, so, before sundown, she was standing on a beach with the rest of the invisible tourists, listening to a recording of their tour guide's voice telling them that this was Saint Pierre's beach, and that right here, on these very sands, some guy was killed on May 21, 1746.

Holly sighed. This was hardly any different from sitting in the library all day, listening to some history buff drone on about how so-and-so murdered so-and-so, and then so-and-so did blah blah blah… glancing around to see if anyone might notice if she was gone, she crept away from the group, setting her tiny feet carefully on the sand so as not to disturb the grains.

Once onto the pavement, she looked around for something else to do, and her gaze fell onto the ocean and the people playing in it. _Now _that, she thought,_ is what I came here to do. _She hurried towards the changing rooms, almost went into the men's by accident, but noticed the sign on the door just in time, reversed direction to the women's, and slipped into the plain, blue, one-piece swimsuit the tour company had given them all. "To make you look like human children, so you can go swimming!" the pixie handing them out had said. Holly hmphed with the remembrance, glancing at herself in the changing room's mirror. _I do not look like a mudgirl. _

It was true. Though she lacked what most males would consider an attractive figure, her waist dipped in slightly, and her chest was reasonably rounded. Her hair was longer than it had been when she'd worked with the LEP and Section Eight, but still barely passed her earlobes. Pursing her lips in annoyance at what the pixie hadn't been meant as an insult, but what had been taken as one, she tucked the auburn locks under a swimming cap to hide her ears, then shouldered her bag and left.

As she jogged past where she knew her tour group was still standing, she felt slightly sheepish, but consoled herself with the thought that they'd be joining her in the water soon enough. _Nothing wrong with going in a little early…_

She set out her things on a vacant halfway up the crowded beach, laying out her towel and setting her bag on top of it. The person with the spot next to hers, a young boy in a suit doing something on an expensive-looking laptop, glanced up. She caught him looking and he returned his attention to whatever he was doing, and Holly shook her head. _Who wears a suit and works on a laptop at the beach?_ she wondered, and unbidden, her mind answered her own question. _Artemis would._

Her hands froze in the smoothing out of her towel and she looked over at the kid again. She only had a profile view of him, but there was something familiar about his features—the striking blue eyes and raven hair. She dismissed the notion quickly. _He died thirty years ago, Short. Don't be ridiculous._

Still, though, as she made her way toward the water, she couldn't help but finger the simple gold band on the third digit of her left hand. _Fowl, _she corrected herself, _not Short. He may be long dead, but you're still married to him._


	2. 45 Years: Meetings

**Atlantis City, the Lower Elements**

_Sixteen years later_

It was a new apartment now, but this one was just as well lived in as Holly's last. It was smaller, with not so nice a view, but the rent was considerably lower, and savings from Section Eight's generous pay check only last so long. Holly worked more hours at the library, because she actually needed the money, but as it was before, her every other moment was spent inside the apartment's walls.

It wasn't that she was depressed, per se, more that she had never truly gotten over losing her husband. There was also something that tugged at the edge of her memory whenever she thought of him, some strange thing that had happened more recently, but she hadn't managed to place it. It nagged at her, begging to be remembered; it was important, she believed, but the only thing she could draw from its faint remembrance was that it belonged to the surface.

She'd always been curious, probably a little too much for her own good, and after many years had passed in troubled solitude, she made for the aboveground. The last time she'd gone, sixteen years back, had been with a tour group, but that had been stupefyingly boring, so this time she travelled alone, tweaking a few strings at customs with her old LEP status and manners to get a shuttle.

She wound up in Spain, somehow, after hopping onto a train without really knowing where it was going, just for the fun of it. She knew she could find her way back, and if worse came to worse, there was always the fairy GPS/SRTD (Short Range Teleportation Device) in her backpack. _No wings,_ she thought regretfully as she watched the scenery fly by from under the brim of her floppy hat.

The ride from Athens to Barcelona took just over an hour, surprising the dozing Holly as the hidden loudspeakers announced they had arrived in five languages. _Already?_ she marvelled, shoving her book into her bag and standing. _That was fast. But then again, it's been what? Forty-five years since you've been on a mudman train? Things have changed._

Things _had_ changed. The street outside the station that she remembered as being covered in old-fashioned architecture was gone, replaced by towering glass skyscrapers that made Holly's neck hurt just to tilt her head back far enough to see their tops.

She wandered for a while, glancing at a map she'd picked up off a tourist info booth, until her stomach rumbled loudly and she began looking for someplace to eat. She found a fries stand with some difficultly—it was hard to see much of anything when everyone's a foot taller than you—and bought a 'small'. The Styrofoam box was huge! After grabbing a fork, she turned around to leave…

…and bumped into a very large, solid something. Her just-purchased fries flew in all directions as she flung her arms out to the side to regain her balance. The man she'd collided with grabbing one of her flailing appendages and returned her to a proper upright position. Embarrassed, she raised her head to thank him, tugging her hat back down over her ears, and froze. That something she'd been trying to remember flooded her mind: the boy on the beach sixteen years ago that looked so much like Artemis.

The man who stood before her must have been that same boy, grown up. There were the same startling eyes, and the same black hair. _No, it's not Artemis!_ she told herself viciously. _It can't be._

"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, wrenching her hand away as she felt herself begin to tear up. _Oh Frond… couldn't I have forgotten him by now? It's been almost forty five years._ Abandoning her food, she rushed into the crowd, pushing her way between bodies.

Once out in the open, she made her way to a bench on the boardwalk, blinking rapidly. A hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped, whirling around, ready to fight as old instincts kicked in.

"Do I know you?" the Artemis-look-alike asked her.

"Uh," said Holly. Did he? "I don't think—"

"Holly Short?" he asked. She almost fainted.

"Who are you?" she demanded. _This must be some trick. Maybe Foaly's hired someone to dress up as Artemis, to get back at me from when I let slip to Caballine that he used to watch pixie porn… but really. That was so long ago, you'd think he would have gotten over it by now._

"I thought it was you," he mused, "and at Saint Pierre's beach, sixteen years ago? Of course, I didn't know you then…" he glanced at her shocked expression. "I'm Artemis." Holly glared at him, suddenly angry at Foaly's nerve.

"Yeah, sure you are," she snapped. "Get lost. And Foaly," she added, "I know you're listening to this, you'll have to do better than this to fool me."

"Foaly?" the look-alike questioned, "He's on vacation under the Bahamas. He doesn't have access to the kind of technology needed to put a mike in my ear, or a camera in my eye. It's me, Holly."

"No," she cried, "it isn't! It's impossible that you could be Artemis Fowl! For one, you'd be… hm, let's see. A hundred and twenty-four? Secondly, where's my eye? I still have his, but you don't have mine. What'd you do with it, hm? Take it out with a fork and throw it in the trash?!"

He set his hands on her shoulders to ward off her attack, pushing her backwards gently. "Your eye wasn't part of my genetic structure, so when they rebuilt me, it wouldn't have formed." He sighed lightly at her disbelieving expression. "This is going to take some explaining, isn't it?"

"Get lost," she snapped, holding out a coin. "Here, is money what you want? Take it and go!"

"When I gave you that necklace for your ninetieth birthday, you thanked Juliet instead of me," he said, pointing at the gold chain around her neck. "On the Christmas that I was twenty-two and you were ninety-four, you flew through my window, completely drunk, and landed on top of me. Who else would know that but me?" Holly said nothing, trying to work this out. What he said had been true, no one else but him could possibly have known that, but it just wasn't possible! Artemis Fowl had died an old man, and this was forty-five years after his death. Even the fairies hadn't come up with a way to bring people back to life yet!

"I know you're thinking that this isn't possible," he said, "but give me a chance to explain." He sat himself down on the bench and motioned for her to do the same.

"I'm listening," she told him warily, "but if this turns out to be some joke, I swear, I'll—"

"After I died," he began, cutting off the rest of her threat, "a lot of people took samples of my brain cells for research, like they did with Einstein. One man, my brother's grandson, managed to regrow me, implanting some altered cells of mine into his wife's womb. He played with the DNA in those cells, programming them to reconstruct me exactly as I was up until the age of twenty-six, when it seems that most scientists agreed that my genius had reached its peak. He even found a way to get my synapses to reconstruct themselves, so that I gained my memories from my first life gradually as I grew up. He couldn't, however, get the synapses to continue this reconstruction past my memories of my twenty-sixth year, when I am designed to stop growing."

Holly paused before responding to this, mulling it over in her mind. "So you have all the memories from your… other life?"

"I will." he corrected. "As I am not yet twenty-six, I will continue to gain memories, but after that, I will never remember anything that happened to me after. My body will stay at the age of twenty-six until my cells cannot reproduce anymore and I die."

Holly added this to her considerations, subconsciously playing with her wedding ring, a habit she'd picked up ages ago. Artemis—she'd accepted his story somewhat—caught her at it and brought her hand up to see.

"You're married?" he asked, obviously surprised. "To whom?"

Her breath caught in her throat. He didn't remember! But no, he wouldn't. That had been in his thirtieth year. She snatched her hand back, looking down._ How do you tell someone that you're married to them?_ "No one," she lied, "It's just a ring."

"Then you wouldn't mind if…?" casually, watching her face, he began to slip the gold band off her finger. She didn't move. _What in Frond's name are you doing?! _she screamed at herself.

"Keep it," she said carelessly. _WHAT?!_ "It's just a ring."

He smiled. "I would never steal from you," he told her, giving it back to her. She arched an eyebrow at him, remembering plenty of times when he'd done just that. "In this life," he clarified. She couldn't help but smile faintly as she put the ring back on. "What are you doing up here?" he asked suddenly.

"I'm on vacation," she replied, not looking at him.

"And," he said, giving her an infuriatingly knowing smile, "knowing you, you didn't think to book a place to stay. Am I right?"

She glared at him. _He certainly acts like the old Artemis…_

"Thought so," he continued, answering his own question by the look on her face.

**Ortega Manor**

The huge bronze doors swung open in front of Holly automatically. She stepped inside slowly, following Artemis, head tilted back to marvel at the painted vaulted ceiling. Just the foyer of the house was definitely the largest space she'd been in, in over twenty years. She was vaguely aware of a man in a plain black uniform taking her bag, and when she snapped back into reality, tried to snatch it back from him. Artemis's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"He will take it to one of the guest rooms," he said. "Nothing will be touched or removed from inside it." He shifted his grip on her so that his hand rested lightly in the crook of her elbow; she stared at it, then back at him. Who'd taught him manners? Befor—in his… previous life, _she'd_ been the one who had had to teach him how to act in order to not offend and/or scare off everyone he met.

Gently, he guided her out of the lobby and into an equally high-ceilinged corridor, although 'pulled' was probably a better word. She was walking half-backwards, staring at the room they were leaving, while he lead her by her right arm.

"Father?" he said, stopping and knocking on a large wooden door. Holly almost bumped into him. After a moment, the door opened, Artemis let go of her arm, and they entered.

It was another ridiculously huge room, filled with shelves upon shelves of books, and at the far end, under tall stained-glass windows, was a desk with an older man sitting at it. They approached him, slowly. When they stood before him, Artemis made his introductions. "Father, this is Holly Short," he said formally. It stung a little to be called Short by him, but she quickly shrugged it off and resolved to ask about just _how much_ he remembered of their relationship later. "Holly, this is my father, Marcus Ortega II." In an undertone, he added, "The man who recreated me."

Holly smiled politely and gave a sort of half bow. "Nice to meet you."

"And you," Mr. Ortega replied. "Take your hat off, dear, so I can see your face. If Artemis brought you home with him, you must be lovely."

She did as told, subtly adjusting her hair to cover her ears and hoping the faint flush that spread across her cheeks was hidden by the dim light in the room at the strange compliment. Ortega smiled slightly and nodded.

"I was right," he said.

They exchanged more formalities for a minute or so before Artemis excused them and took Holly on a tour of the house.

"He seems nice," she remarked as they walked. He nodded.

"He is a kind man," he said. They strolled on in silence for a long moment, until they went through a set of glass doors into an open-air courtyard. "There are three of these in the house," he informed her. "This is the largest. Your room is faces out onto it, over there."

She followed the finger he stuck out with her gaze, and headed for it. It took her only a second to realize he wasn't following.

"What?" she asked, turning.

"I have other things to attend to," he said. How typical. It was annoying, but at the same time good to know that some things never change. A hundred years ago, she would have gotten angry, probably told him off, and demanded that he talk to her for a while—she hadn't seen him in forty-five years! Now, she just smiled faintly. That, however, didn't mean that he wasn't going to get a little talking to about it.

"You do realize that I haven't seen you in almost five decades," she said.

"But I feel like I just saw you yesterday," he replied. "I have memories of us yesterday. You were berating me for donating money to a charity and then stealing it back. I had a good reason for that, I'll have you know—"

"Stop." Holly cut him off, holding up a hand and closing her eyes. She remembered that day. He _had_ had a good reason for doing it: in the hacking of their account to take the money back, he set it to say that they had received three times as much taken from an anonymous source (at no cost to himself, of course), but he'd neglected to tell her that until the next day.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, "'Stop'?"

She felt her eyes sting at the memories, and at the ones that came after, years after. The first time he'd kissed her—_really _kissed her, not just a drugged stumble that landed his face on hers, the day he'd asked her to marry him, their engagement ceremony, the night after their engagement ceremony…

"Holly?" She felt a hand on her shoulder and leaned her head onto it, eyes still closed as she struggled to drag herself out of the past. "Are you alright?"

With one last, valiant effort, she forced her eyes to open. Two tears dripped from her eyelashes with the movement, but she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She turned to leave, making her way across the grass to her room, but he caught her with his voice.

"If I did something in my first life to hurt you," he said, "don't be mad at me. I'm not him, I didn't do what he did."

Holly stopped short as the words stabbed her in the back. "I know," she whispered shakily, "I know." He was not her Artemis. He did not, and never would, have any sort of those feelings for her again. He was not the man whose eye she had in her head. He was not the man who'd given her the ring around her finger, or with whom she'd lived for fifty years. Was this man's name even Fowl?

She started walking again, faster this time. She heard him calling after her.

"Holly!" he shouted, "Holly, stop. Listen to me! Short!" She almost laughed at his use of her old last name. It was what he used to call her when he really wanted her attention, most often when there was something he wanted her to do.

She couldn't help but retort to it. "My name is not Short," she said bitterly from the entrance to her room. She shut the door a little harder than was necessary behind her, and then sagged against it.

What had happened to her peaceful vacation? It was supposed to be a nice little escape from the chronic boringness of her life, to just get away for a week or so, and then return to work refreshed, maybe even with a little bit of a tan! And now, suddenly, her husband was back from the dead, and he didn't even remember marrying her!


	3. 45 Years: The Truth and a Kiss

**Chapter Two**

**Ortega Manor, Spain**

Holly's depressed mood was rudely interrupted by a knock on the door. "Surely you have better things to do with your time, Artemis," she snapped.

"Er," said an unfamiliar, Spanish voice from the other side of the door, "Room service, ma'am?" She sighed.

"Not now," she said, "And sorry about that. I thought you were someone else."

"Not a problem, ma'am," replied the man outside, and Holly heard his footsteps move on down the hall. She shook her head slightly. They had room service in their house? How rich were these people? Even Fowl Manor didn't have room service.

Fowl Manor… what had happened to it? She supposed that the twins and their families, or rather, the twins and their families' families' families, lived there now. What about them? Did they all know about the new Artemis? She reasoned that they probably would, being as Mr. Ortega was one of the twin's grandchildren. What had their reactions been to it?

Apart from herself and Foaly, there was probably no one alive who had known the original Artemis. Ortega, being his great… nephew? was one who could potentially be expected to, but he had not been born before Artemis's death. Now, being here, in his house, Holly couldn't help but wonder if Ortega would remember her. She had never met him, not even when he was just an infant, but surely he had been told about his great-aunt? Although, she reasoned, who knows their great-aunts' and great-uncles' full names? Especially when they had both died (or, in Holly's case, appeared to have died) before one's birth?

A long while later, after she'd read a good chunk of her book, another knock came on the door. Feeling a little bad about the greeting she'd given the room service guy before, she stood and opened the door personally, even shaping her mouth into what she hoped was a pleasant smile.

"Ma'am?" a young man in the same uniform the butler that had taken her bag at the house's front entrance stood before her. "Mr. Ortega sent me to tell you that dinner is in half an hour."

"Thanks," she replied, then, "wait. Which Ortega?" Artemis's last name would be Ortega, would it not? He had introduced himself to her as Fowl, but that might have been for her benefit alone.

The servant seemed surprised at her question. "Artemis Ortega," he said, as though it should be obvious. At her inquisitive glance, he explained, "Mr. Marcus Ortega does not dine with others."

"Oh," she said. "Well, thank you. Tell him…" she thought for a moment. Tell him what? She did not want to spend more painful time with him, but where else would she eat? Her lunch had been lost when she'd bumped into him, and so she had eaten nothing since breakfast, and she had brought only a small amount of extra Human money with her. "Tell him I'll be there," she said finally.

And she _was_ there, precisely half an hour later, sitting at a long, elegantly set table with five other people. They were all guests, she'd been informed. Artemis was the last to arrive, and he took his seat at the head of the table, and they began. The food was good, there was a lot of it, Holly was sitting at the far corner from _him_, with everyone else in between them, and she was happy. He could not talk to her without shouting over everyone else; he could barely even see her over their heads. To add to it, two of the guests, the ones that had seated themselves on his either side, refused to stop asking him questions about everything: the food, the universe, his favourite parts of the city, whether or not he thought there was life on other planets, what his hobbies were, quantum physics… Holly saw him sigh in what only she would recognize as annoyance.

She finished eating before the others, and politely excused herself, claiming to have business to attend to. She tried to go back to her room, but seemed to be going in circles, always finding herself back in the main foyer. Finally, knowing that there was nothing to do in her room anyway, she headed outside for an evening stroll.

The manor was situated near the waterfront, but when they said 'near', they meant that the edges of the grounds were near it. That made for almost two kilometres between Holly and the sea. Not willing to walk that far, she wandered the paths on the grounds, until she came to a small, trickling brook with an old willow beside it. She stopped and stood still for a moment, then clambered up the tree's gnarled bark to the first large branch, only a few feet up. The next one was just out of reach, but jumping, she could make it. She hesitated—it had been a long time since she'd climbed anything, or swung herself about in the air at an altitude of a couple times her height. Taking a deep breath, she jumped, and felt her fingers close around her destination. With a great deal of effort, she hauled herself up to sit on the thick branch, leaning back against the tree's trunk.

She closed her eyes, listening to the flowing water and the whispers of the dangling tendrils in the gentle evening wind. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but she must have almost drifted off to sleep because she was startled enough to nearly tumble off her perch when someone called her name.

"Holly?" Artemis called. She looked down, wished she hadn't, and clutched at the tree.

"Yes?" she replied shakily. _Where's your nerve, girl? _she demanded of herself.

"Let's talk," he said. She took a deep breath.

"And why—" her rebuttal was cut off short.

"What is your last name?" he asked.

"What?" she stumbled.

"Your last name," he repeated. "You said it wasn't Short. Also, that ring you had. Are you married?"

Suddenly, he had pulled himself up on the branch in front of her, and moved so that he sat leaning against the trunk, as she was, on an adjacent limb. She avoided his gaze carefully as she considered her answer.

"I was," she said eventually, staring down at her hands folded in her lap.

"To whom?" he pressed. She felt her lips quirk. Any other person would have said, 'Oh, sorry,' and let it drop. Not Artemis.

"You don't want to know the answer to that question," she said softly, chancing a glance up at him. He caught her eyes with his.

"Yes, I do," he said firmly. She shut her eyes to break the contact when she couldn't look away.

"I um," she said slowly, "I was married to—" her throat closed on the declaration, and suddenly she blurted, "My last name is Fowl." She couldn't see his reaction, and didn't want to, but she could hear it and sense it. He stiffened, she could tell, he was caught off guard. He had not be expecting that, had he? Or perhaps he had. When Artemis was twenty-six… what was their relationship like? They were friends, close friends, but nothing more.

"I assume you are referring to Artemis Fowl?" he clarified, his voice slightly strained as though he was struggling to maintain his composure. She nodded, her eyes still tightly closed. Fabric rustled softly, and she assumed he was leaving, having been made uncomfortable by what she'd told him.

She nearly fell out of the tree when familiar and at the same time foreign lips pressed against her own. Pulling back, Artemis said, "Did you know that he wanted to do that since he was fifteen? That he dreamt about you since he was seventeen? I am not him, Holly, but I have all of his memories. I feel what he felt. I want, in a way, what he wanted. I remember you as his friend. You remember him as your husband." He lifted a gentle hand to her cheek as if in apology. "This cannot work out. You know that. I have never met you before. I, personally, don't know you. He knew you, I don't."

His speech over, he lowered his hand and watched her carefully. She swallowed harshly on her tears and slid her own hand behind his neck. "If you want what he wanted," she whispered, drawing him closer so that there were only a couple scant inches between them, "then why…" she pulled him all the way to her, meeting his lips with a kiss that she _tried _to make relaxed. It did not turn out as she wished it.

The sorrow she'd felt at and since Artemis's death and the longing she still felt for him escaped into the kiss, and she opened her mouth to him, both arms holding him close. It was so easy to forget where she was, who he was, and imagine that it was her Artemis she held. For a moment, she did just that, then she forced herself to remember that it was not her Artemis, and she let him go.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, dropping her gaze. He stayed in front of her for a moment, then leaned back.

"I understand," he said. "And I am sorry, Holly. I am."

With practiced grace, he slipped off the branch, down to the next one, and onto the ground, and then departed. She shut her eyes again and banged her head into the tree's bark three times. _Stupid stupid stupid._

And to think that she'd never believed them when they said that marriage ruined friendship.


	4. 45 Years: Of the Irish and Cars

AN: firstly, the disclaimer I've been forgetting: I don't own Artemis Fowl. No profit was made. Secondly, about the story. It was originally intended to be a romantic comedy… funny, isn't it, how much it is not of that genre? And, to be honest, I have no idea how to end it. Not so, I lie. I have a vague idea of what I want the ending to be, but I have NO CLUE how to get there. (sigh) Ah well. That isn't your problem. Onwards to the chapter.

**Chapter Three**

**Ortega Manor, Spain**

Holly lay on the large four-poster bed, eyes closed and breathing steady, but very much awake. Her book sat on the bedside table, finished and forgotten. She rolled over onto her side, staring blankly into the darkness of the room. She'd cried earlier, fallen briefly asleep, dreamed of Artemis, woken, and cried again. It wasn't like her to be so emotional, she acknowledged, and she half-heartedly tried to berate herself for it.

It must be at least three in the morning, and if it wasn't, it certainly seemed like it. With a quiet groan, she pushed herself off the bed and felt around in the black for the door. Once out in the hall, she smoothed out her clothes and ran her hands quickly through her hair, and then wandered to the courtyard, where she seated herself on a bench and titled her head back to look up through the glass ceiling at the sky.

It was a clear night, almost completely without clouds. The courtyard was chilly, the cold grass feeling clammy against Holly's bare feet. The stars were numerous and bright, peeking down at her. It had been a long time since she'd seen stars, at least first-hand. She'd seen them in movies, of course, and on TV shows, but not since she moved back underground had she actually sat and looked up at them.

A huge (in comparison to the tiny stars) bright spot floated lazily by, and though it took a moment, she identified it as the new International Space Station. She'd seen pictures of it in the _Atlantis Tribune_. It had massive solar panels, which reflected much light and caused the glow, and always had at least four hundred crewmembers on staff at all times. The living and working areas were all in a large, rotating disk to create artificial gravity, with the machinery that kept it running in the long narrow middle section. None of this was visible, of course, from where she was, but it had been in the diagram in the newspaper.

The stone bench began to become uncomfortable, and she changed locations to lie on her back in the grass, and found that much better. So comfortable, even, that after a moment, her eyes started to drift closed…

* * *

Daylight on her face woke her, and once she realized where she was, she shot to her feet. Hoping no one had seen her sleeping in the garden, she returned to her room and shoved her things into her suitcase. After changing and donning her hat and shoes, she left as fast as possible.

As she was marching through the foyer, a voice stopped her.

"Miss Short?" it called. She stopped and turned to see Mr. Ortega walking toward her. "Are you leaving so soon?"

"Um, yes," she said, slightly surprised by his sudden appearance. "I… have to go."

"I hope my son did not offend you," he said.

"N-no," she stumbled, caught off-guard. Where had that come from? Did he know? "No, he was very polite."

"Well," Mr. Ortega said, heading for the main doors. "I will accompany you to the garage. From there, one of our drivers will take you to where you need to go."

"Thank you," Holly said, following him. They strolled along the gravel path quietly, until he spoke.

"You know, you remind me of someone," he commented. "I think I had a relative, a great-great-aunt or something like that who looked like you. No, wait, let me see… I believe it was Artemis Fowl's wife, so that would make her my… great-aunt." He smiled, looking down at the path beneath his feet. "Never mind me, it was just a picture. Besides, she'd would be long dead by now."

"Yes," Holly agreed, turning her head away to pretend to look back at the house to hide her unnerved expression. It would make for a lot of very difficult questions and many, _many_ lies if he recognized her as who she was.

They arrived at the garage, and stopped to say farewell.

"You're certain I can't convince you to stay a little longer?" he asked. "You seem like an interesting woman." _Do I?_ thought Holly, _You don't even know me. If you did, would you really think that?_

"I really should get back home," she replied, "I have to work."

"Ah, yes," he nodded, "work. I gave that up long ago." She gave him a small smile and looked over his face. He was quite old, probably nearing seventy. His face was creased with wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, around his mouth, and on his forehead, but they only served to give him a grandfatherly appearance.

He beckoned to a car that waited in the shade of a huge, five lane garage and it pulled up beside them.

"Thank you," she said. He shook her hand in farewell, and she climbed into the limo. "Bye."

"Good-bye," he said, holding up his hand in send-off as the long black car pulled away.

The limo brought her to the train station, where she almost bought tickets for the trip back to Athens. At the last minute, seeing one to Dublin, she impulsively bought tickets for it instead. Once on board, she dumped her suitcase on the seat beside her and settled in.

Only after the train started moving did she wonder how, exactly, the train went to Dublin. Ireland was an island, last time she'd checked. Had they dug a tunnel under the sea to get there? Well, she reasoned as the train picked up speed, she'd find out soon enough.

By the time Holly deduced that they must be at full speed, the scenery out the window was going by so fast it would be hard to tell whether or not the mudmen had dug a tunnel to Ireland. Undeterred, she kept a careful watch on the greenish blur outside.

She wasn't sure how long the ride was, but before she noticed any tunnels or large expanses of sea, the train began to slow, and the announcement system informed the passengers that they'd arrived in Dublin. _No way!_ thought Holly, annoyed, _I was actually interested in that tunnel/bridge quandary. That's not fair._

She swung her bag up off its seat and slid her arm through the carrying strap, and then made her way off the train. The train itself wasn't busy, but the station certainly was. She had to shove her way through, elbowing mudmen out of her way left right and centre, in order to get to the exit. She'd only taken three steps out the door before she heard an awful screech of tires on asphalt. She instinctively threw herself out of the path of the wayward car, but it wasn't quite enough. Vaguely, through someone's screams—she belatedly realized they were her own—and a blinding haze of pain, she heard a rich Irish accent tossing various swear words her way, and very nearly passed out.

Struggling to maintain consciousness, she felt her magic beginning to swirl around the broken bone in her shin and, though she didn't want to, forced it away. People were crowding around her, she couldn't use magic to heal herself in front of all them. The faint blue glow vanished, and the pain returned.

Someone was leaning over her, but she couldn't quite hear the words coming from his mouth. From the expression on his face, it looked like he was apologizing profusely, but she couldn't be sure. Within moments, a high-pitched wail cut through everything else, even the fog in her mind, and suddenly she was being lifted onto a stretcher by four people in uniforms that had 'paramedic' clearly printed in capital letters across the front. It was taking most of her concentration to control her magic, so she didn't understand what they were telling her and consequently was startled when something stung her arm, the pain in her leg began to fade, and she suddenly really, _really_, wanted to go to sleep. In a desperate gamble to keep her leg from healing itself while she was unconscious, she filtered her magic off into the stretcher through her back, infusing the poor thing with enough energy to fry a troll so that she had none left in herself—not forgetting to make sure that from the stretcher it siphoned off into the vehicle and consequently into the ground—before she gave into the sedative and let her eyes fall shut.


	5. 45 Years: Language Barrier

_AN: Well, it seems that the Gift of Tongues does not, in fact, require magic, but in this story, it does. So I don't want to see any comments telling me that it doesn't, okay? Or I will be annoyed with you for not reading the author's note._

_Anyhow, on another note, thanks to __**Heera Malhotra**__ for pointing out my mistakes in the last chapter._

**Four**

Holly woke slowly in an annoyingly bright room. Her leg throbbed dully, and it felt ridiculously heavy, as did her eyelids as she pried them open. With a disproportionate effort, she lifted her head to look down at her injured limb. It stuck out from under the simply patterned grey sheets that covered her, and was wrapped in a cast.

She struggled to sit up, being careful of the IV sticking in her arm, and a doctor rushed into the room. He said something in a language she didn't understand and gently pushed her back down. She did a double take. He was speaking a language she didn't understand? She understood _all_ languages! It wasn't possible from him to be speaking a language she didn't know.

Then it occurred to her: she'd gotten rid of her magic before she'd passed out. She had none left to use for the Gift of Tongues.

"_D'arvit_," she swore softly, falling back against the pillows. "I have to leave," she said to the man, though she knew he wouldn't understand. "I have to leave."

She had to get outside to perform the Ritual, but how could she make them understand that? Even if she could speak to them in a language they knew, how could she explain what she wanted without letting them know about the People?

The doctor was still talking, and she listened, trying to comprehend what he was saying, but it was no use. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she could give them an emergency contact that they could reach, and bring her there.

"Marcus Ortega!" she said abruptly. The doctor stopped speaking and looked at her curiously. "Marcus Ortega," she repeated, "Call Marcus Ortega. I'm—" she pointed to herself "—Holly Short."

She could see the gears in his brain turning, and then he understood. He nodded, and rushed to a computer. He typed something into it, and a moment later, went to a communication terminal and entered in a number. A face appeared on the screen a moment later. Holly heard her name mentioned, and Mr. Ortega's, and then the man on the other end of the line disappeared and was replaced by Mr. Ortega.

The doctor spoke to him, and Holly heard her name again. After a minute, the doctor moved off to the side so that Ortega could see Holly. She waved, and he and the doctor spoke again. After they'd finished, the doctor managed to convey to her (using simplistic pictures he drew in his notepad) that he was going to help her into a wheelchair and from there, take her, by some sort of flying device, to Ortega Manor. She agreed, nodding her head, and allowed him to lift her into the wheelchair.

She felt strangely ashamed as he wheeled her through the corridors of the hospital. It seemed as though everyone was staring at her, and she suddenly remembered her ears. Her hands shot to them, and she was relieved to find that her hair was long enough that they'd stayed covered. Still not quite reassured, she glanced up at the doctor pushing her. Had he seen them while she lay on her back, asleep? What if he had?

He was still cheerfully chatting away, she realized. He was talking to her. What was the point? She obviously could not understand him.

Eventually, they went out through a sliding door onto a windy outdoor platform where there was a small aircraft waiting. It seemed to be a much improved model of the prototype hovercraft Artemis had designed in his thirties.

She felt her throat close up as she was loaded on board the craft, recalling the first time her husband had taken her out flying in it. He'd refused to let her (she was pregnant at the time) anywhere near the thing until he'd tested it at least twenty times without any problems. When they finally had gone out in the little vehicle, he'd taken her to the ocean for a picnic on the beach. Well, in all honesty, _she'd_ taken _him_ to the beach. He'd tried to take her on a functional demonstration of the prototype's capabilities, but after the first time he'd taken it from full speed to a dead stop and then to full speed again, she'd refused to let him continue.

The memories of that time led to memories of her god-awful pregnancy. She'd been constantly sick for months, and then when it had finally stopped, she'd gone into sudden, premature labour. The baby hadn't survived, despite Artemis's best efforts to create an artificial womb for her. A later analysis of her genes showed that she'd been dead long before Holly had even begun to have contractions, due to an incompatibility in the combination human and elfin chromosomes. She'd taken the loss hard, blaming herself for it, and had been bedridden with depression for two months.

The aircraft lifted off and she watched out the window as the ground fell away from under them at an unsettling speed. They shot forward, and the scenery far below zipped by, also at an unsettling speed. She guessed they must be going well over a thousand miles an hour, but when they began to descend just half an hour later, she knew they had to have been going much faster.

Marcus Ortega was at the landing pad to greet her as they lifted her wheelchair off the vessel. He came up to her with a warm smile and a hand on her shoulder. She caught her name but only that among the stream of concerned sounding words that came from his mouth. She smiled unsurely, trying to convey that she was grateful for his taking her back and but really had _no idea_ what he'd just said.

Artemis emerged from the door to the house just as the aircraft took off again. He approached his 'father' and her. "Hello again," he said in Holly's language. She stared at him.

"You…" it took her a moment to string together a sentence, she was so surprised. "You speak… my language?"

"Of course," he said without any trace of an accent. "I remember everything about the People, you know that. I might as well_ be _one of you."

Holly couldn't help but be amazed. Yes, her Artemis had known how to speak Elfin, but it hadn't occurred to her that this Artemis would as well.

"I have to perform the ritual!" she blurted after a silence. He nodded.

"I suspected as much," he said calmly, walking over to the back of her wheelchair. "I'll take you outside."

She was silent as he pushed her through the halls of his house. They went into an elevator, and emerged a moment later in the foyer. He pushed her outside, through the two huge main doors, and along the paths until they were out of easy sight from the house at a leisurely pace that she swore he did just to anger her. It was awkward enough being with him, let alone being pushed by him in a wheelchair. Did he _have_ to prolong her suffering?

Well, that was Artemis for you.

Finally, they arrived under a huge oak tree. Artemis picked up an acorn and handed it to her. She pushed herself out of the wheelchair and foolishly tried to stand on her injured leg. It gave out from under her and she pitched forward, bringing her hands up just in time to shield her face. She landed in an undignified heap of overly large white hospital gown (which was thankfully closed at the back, not open as they had been many years before) in the grass.

Keeping her head down to hide the flush of embarrassment scalding her cheeks, she pushed herself into an awkward sitting position and dug a small hole in the ground with two fingers. She dropped the acorn in and patted the dirt back into place of it and kept her hands there, waiting. The few seconds it took for the Ritual to take effect gave her time to reflect on her feelings that had been wounded when Artemis had failed to catch her as she fell.

Finally, she felt the magic's tendrils creep up her arms into her body, filling her once again. She smiled, closing her eyes in relief as it filtered down to her leg and sewed the bone back together. Once it had finished, she went to slit her cast open with a magically elongated and sharpened fingernail but a hand caught her own before she could set the blade against the fibreglass wrapped around her leg.

"Don't you think it would be a little odd if you were to suddenly lose your cast and be able to walk again?" he inquired.

"If you're expecting me to stay in this thing for however many weeks—" she began angrily.

"No," he said calmly, "I'm expecting you to leave it on for the five minute walk to my airplane."

"To your airplane?" she questioned. "Where are you planning on taking me?"

"Back to Athens," he said, lifting her easily—to her horror, embarrassment, and anger— by the underarms and depositing her back in the wheelchair. "From there you can get back on the lift to Atlantis."

"Fine," she agreed, folding her arms beneath her chest. Then, "I didn't tell you I lived in Atlantis." She could almost feel his vampire smile as he wheeled her back onto the footpath, but he said nothing. "Have you been _spying_ on me?" she demanded, not sure if she should be offended or flattered, but she was certainly unnerved.

"Spying?" he echoed lightly, "That would depend on what you classify as spying. No, Holly, I do not have hidden cameras in Atlantis that follow you around. I get my information from articles of both the _Atlantis Tribune_ and the _Haven Post_."

Still doubtful, she pried further. "I moved to Atlantis several decades ago. You read all the newspapers that far back? You weren't even born."

"I'm a fast reader," he replied, laughing a little. "I've read newspaper articles, the People's and human's, that date back to the early twentieth century."

She resisted the urge to twist in her seat to stare at him. _Frond, how much free time does he have?_ She shook her head slightly. _Too much, obviously._

They were silent for the rest of their journey. Holly soon found herself on a large square of silvery metal plating that was open to the air and only just within sight of the manor house. It was completely empty save an aircraft of similar design to the one she'd been brought here from the hospital in: small, black, and sleek, with a large flat bottom and windows tinted so dark that they were nigh invisible against the metal shell.

Artemis strode to a communications terminal on the wall and pressed several buttons. Holly heard him speak briefly to someone, telling them that he was taking her to Athens in the car—she smiled to herself at the archaic yet familiar name—and to not expect him back for several days.

"Several days?" she questioned when he returned to her, opening the entry ramp onto the shuttle and pushing her up it. He tilted his head to the side and raised his shoulders almost imperceptibly, what she recognized as his version of a shrug.

"In case I decide I would rather stay in Athens than return home right away," he explained casually, sliding into the driver's seat. He didn't turn the vehicle on, however, and it occurred to Holly after a moment that he was waiting for her to remove her cast. She did so, re-sharpening the nail on her thumb and sliding it along the length of the side, from mid thigh to foot, and then on the other side. She nicked herself twice by accident, pressing too hard and slicing her skin. The cuts sealed themselves over quickly and she ignored them, pulling at the two halves of the cast until they separated and lifted off her leg.

She became aware of Artemis's gaze on the exposed flesh as she rubbed it happily and self-consciously tugged her hospital gown down over it as far as it would go. "I don't suppose you have any clothes I could wear?" she asked.

"Not in here," he said, "but I have flight suits if you want one. They're not the most comfortable things, though. They're there so that if I decide I want to go faster than the g-force shield can handle, I won't black out."

"I'll take one," she said, nodding. He stood from his chair and made his way to the back of the vessel. The craft's open space was about the size of a limousine's seating area, with two seats at the front for the pilot and co-pilot. Enough seats for perhaps four or five passengers lined the sides, and there was a small door on the back. He opened said door and ducked inside briefly, returning with a black bundle which he held out to her. She took them.

"There's a bathroom back there," he told her, "but it's pretty cramped. You can just change out here; I'll be up front."

With that, he left her alone, ducking back between the two pilot seats and seating himself. She unfolded the flight suit and eyeballed it. It was going to be too big for her, even with the extra ten inches she'd gained during her decades on the surface. Nevertheless, it was better than the short, shapeless dress she wore presently, and so she pulled the medical gown over her head and set about trying to figure out how to get into the one-piece jumpsuit. Finally, she found a zipper camouflaged in the black fabric and pulled it all the way down, stepping into the legs and pulling it up over her shoulders. She pulled the zipper back up, almost all the way from her crotch to her chin, and flexed her arms experimentally.

The suit hung off her tiny frame as though she were a small child trying on her father's clothes. A moment later, though, it began to tighten. She squirmed, alarmed, as it closed in on her, coming closer and closer to her skin until it hugged her body. It grew only tight enough to stop it from catching on anything. It didn't restrict her breathing, as she'd been worried it might have been about it, but wasn't quite her idea of loose either. She was reminded vaguely of her old Section 8 jumpsuit, and quickly began to feel much more comfortable in it.

She made her way back into the cockpit and plunked herself down in the seat next to Artemis.

"Ready?" he asked. She didn't get a chance to respond, but didn't really mind. She was ready to leave. His fingers moved fluidly over the keys as they lifted off the ground.

"Wait," she said suddenly, remembering why she'd gotten her leg broken in the first place, "Can we go to Ireland? It's where I was headed when I got hit by a car."

He glanced over at her, one eyebrow raised quizzically, but nodded. "To Fowl Manor?" he asked.

"Yeah," Holly replied.

Just as it had been a short flight to Ortega Manor, it was short flight back to Ireland. They descended onto a pad identical to the one they'd taken off from, and the boarding ramp hissed open. She stepped outside and was greeted by her first view of her old home in forty-five years.


	6. 45 Years: Convoluted Fairytale

_Yours truly has a broken leg. Cheer her up. Leave a review._

**Five**

Artemis swept up the path to Fowl Manor, Holly trailing several steps behind. The main doors were as she remembered them: huge brass things that had always loomed over her like miniature skyscrapers. He keyed in a code onto a discreet panel and the doors swung open silently.

"Who lives here?" Holly asked as they entered in to the familiar foyer.

"No one," Artemis replied, "Only the servants who maintain it. It belongs to me."

"To you?" she was surprised, though not sure why she should be. He was, after all, Artemis Fowl.

_No,_ she thought vehemently as she stepped carefully across the marble floor, _He is _not_ Artemis Fowl!_

"I may come here whenever I wish," he said. "The only reason I still live with Marcus Ortega is that he wants to monitor my development. Once my memories have completed themselves, I will leave him and live here."

She regarded him out of the corner of her eye. The words he spoke were cold and heartless, not caring for the feelings of his 'father' but simply desiring to do as he himself wished. It was as if he was reverting to his original, selfish, preteen frame of mind.

"I am assuming you will want to stay here for at least a day," he said. "Help yourself to whichever room."

She nodded, holding onto the suitcase she'd almost forgotten about with both hands. Thanking him formally, she traced the path that had been forever imprinted on her mind to the master bedroom, unable to go anywhere else even if she'd wanted to.

She set her bag down on the floor and sank onto the huge bed, sliding her hands over the silken coverings. It all looked wrong, somehow. The paint was different, the pictures hanging on the walls had been changed, and the suitcase—

The suitcase had no right to be there. With an angry frown, she slipped off the bed and pounced on it, pounding a fist into it as hard as she could. She lifted it, prepared to hurl it at the wall, but froze mid-action, stopped by the awkward feeling of mandatory politeness that had always forbidden her from doing anything rash in a stranger's home.

"But it's _my_ home," she wailed at the suitcase, at the walls, at the dresser, at anything that would listen. "It's not a stranger's. It's _mine!_"

The suitcase did not reply, and she pushed herself shakily to her feet, putting her hands over her face.

There was no way to know how much longer it was before hands descended on her shoulders and arms snaked about her quivering, flight-suited form, pulling her into a warm and torturously familiar embrace.

"It _is_ hard," he whispered into her hair, "isn't it? I see these rooms, I remember the twins growing up, I remember Butler and Juliet, I remember us sitting and talking, laughing, even fighting." She felt him draw a ragged breath through the cheek pressed against his chest. "They're not my memories, Holly," he said, taking her face in both hands and tilting it up so she'd look at him. He was almost crying, she saw with shock. "But I want them to be. It isn't fair that I should have to carry his memories if I don't get to become him! He had such a good life, a full life. I have nothing. I was born in a laboratory; I don't have parents. I don't have a family, and I don't have friends. I lived another boy's childhood, not my own. I don't even have my own life—I have his! But even that will end soon. In less than a year, I won't have his life either. I—" he cut himself off, turning his head away and moving to stand with a hand on the wall.

Holly watched him go through eyes that had long stopped shedding tears, and said through a throat that was still sobbing, "You're scared." He didn't look back at her, didn't make any indication that he'd heard her. "Aren't you? You're scared of what will happen after you stop getting his memories, that you'll lose him, or yourself, or _whatever the hell you are!_"

He spun to face her, pain showing clearly on his face, but she wasn't finished. She was angry at herself and she was fed up with the world, and though she wasn't truly mad at him, he was the only one she could yell at and so he got the brunt of it all. "Because that's just so typically like you, Artemis! You're afraid for yourself! Never for others! No, you're not concerned about Marcus Ortega's feelings when you leave him to come here to live your life as closely as you can to the original Artemis's. Is that why you're going to come here? To make some pathetic attempt to keep him within you, so that you don't have to live your life yourself?" He tried to speak, but she continued.

"And what about me, hm? Did it ever occur to you that perhaps you should be concerned for poor Holly? I was his _wife_, you know! Maybe, just _maybe_, I cared for him! To see you, who has never even met him, worry about losing him—" she sucked in a deep breath and finished in a low voice, "He's nothing to you and you are nothing to him. I was _everything_, but I have _nothing_."

Her gaze fell briefly on her wedding ring. "No, I have something." She pulled the gold band off her finger and held it up. "I have a piece of metal." In rash anger and disgust, she threw the ring at him and stormed away, not bothering to slam the door behind her.

She didn't get far. His hand caught her arm and stopped her dead in the hallway.

"Yes, Holly," he said harshly. "I'm scared. I'm scared I'll go insane, I'm scared I'll stop existing. But don't you _dare_ criticize me for it—you have no idea what it's like, to know that a huge part of you is going to die and that there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Don't I?" she returned, her chin up and eyes burning. "I lived with a human for fifty-eight years. A mortal. I watched him get older and older, I lived each day knowing full well that it could be his last. If that isn't having a part of you die, I don't _want _to know what is."

He seemed to deflate, even physically sagging as her words took effect. It was as though she'd let go of a balloon long ago that had flown around the room madly, and now it had finally exhausted itself and lay dying on the floor. She instantly began to regret being so harsh on him when her anger wasn't even directed at him, but reverting back to her old ways, she was too stubborn to admit it or apologize, and so she ducked away from him and fled.

She'd taken one of the guest rooms and had collapsed on the bed without bothering to take off the flight suit, falling asleep almost immediately, worn out by so much emotion. She woke when it was still dark, and a glance at the clock on the bedside table told her it was one o'clock in the morning. With a sigh, she swung her legs off the bed and padded out of the bedroom, intending on going to the kitchen for something to eat, having missed all three meals the preceding day.

She passed through the living room on her way there and was greeted with the sight of Artemis asleep sprawled out on the couch, a book on his chest. She stood for a moment, watching his even breathing, and then continued on her way.

The kitchen was empty of servants, as she'd hoped it would be, and she opened the cupboards for some cereal. She found a box and took it out, revealing a tin of instant hot chocolate mix. She grabbed that too, went to the fridge for some milk, and then to another cupboard for a bowl and a mug. Finding both, she poured milk into each and added three scoops of chocolate powder into one and a generous helping of hoop-shaped cereal bits into the other. She went to put the hot chocolate in the microwave but stopped as she felt heat seep through the mug into her hands. Surprised, she sipped it cautiously and found it already warm. Shrugging, she seated herself at the stainless steel table that was meant more for cooking than eating and dug in.

It was tasteless in her mouth, even—though slightly less so—the hot cocoa she'd always loved so much. She set her spoon down and abandoned the cereal, taking the steaming cup with her from the kitchen and sipping it slowly on her way back to her bedroom. She passed by Artemis, still asleep and snoring faintly, but didn't stop this time. Once back in her room, she set the only half-empty drink on the bedside table and dug in her suitcase for her pyjamas, finding them and changing into them, glad to be out of the flight suit's coarse fabric that had begun to chafe.

She climbed into the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, and closed her eyes. She waited for sleep to return…

It didn't. The image of Artemis sleeping in the living room kept bashing its way into her mind, until finally, with another sigh, she heaved herself out of bed. She wasn't quite sure what she was going to do, but moving was a distraction and so she started walking. Out of the bedroom, along a corridor or two, up a set of stairs, along another hallway, then down three flights of stairs to the ground floor, and across the foyer. Her bare feet tapped lightly on the cold marble floor and stairs as she headed up again. She stopped when she realized she's come to the living room that contained Artemis and stood, frozen and uncertain, staring at him.

As if he'd felt her gaze, his eyes opened blearily. "Holly?" he questioned, "What is it? What time is it?"

Before she realized what she was doing, she'd crossed the expanse of fluffy rug separating them. He sat up, looking slightly wary.

"Are you still angry?" he asked. "I'm sorry for the things I said; you're right. I shouldn't be afraid to stop getting his memories. I need to start living my own life."

Just as unconsciously as she'd crossed the room, she crossed the small remaining distance between them, kneeling to meet his lips with hers and startling him. It wasn't until she felt his hands on the bare skin of her ribcage that she realized what she was doing.

She jerked away as if she'd been burnt, snapping her eyes open and taking in the situation. Somehow, without her noticing, his shirt had been removed and her pyjama top had been unbuttoned, hanging open and displaying a liberal amount of flesh.

He was looking at her questioningly, either wondering why she'd kissed him in the first place or wanting to know why she'd stopped. Whichever it was, he leaned back into her, lips descending on her neck. Holly set her hands on his shoulders but did not pull back, torn between the feelings that had flushed her face and wanting to get away from him and stop this insanity.

At last, she made her decision. She pushed him away firmly and stood. "Artemis—" her voice broke and the sentence died.

He looked her up and down, took in the open pyjama top that exhibited far more than was proper between strangers, the reddened patch of skin that he'd left on her collarbone, the dishevelled locks of auburn hair that revealed inhuman ears, the swollen lips, and the distressed eyes. He shook his head with a sad smile, murmuring, "My… we are a _convoluted_ little fairytale, aren't we?"


	7. 45 Years: Dinner Date

**Six**

Holly did not see Artemis again until lunch the day after their midnight encounter. She was in the kitchen, chatting with one of the cooks and munching on some pasta the young woman had made for her, when he came in briefly to request a meal. When he caught sight of her, he stopped mid-order.

"Can I talk to you?" he requested politely. She raised an eyebrow. "Outside," he clarified delicately. She didn't move and neither did he. After a moment, she relented and followed him out into the hallway.

"Would you like to join me for dinner tonight?" he asked. She gawked at him.

"You made me come out here to ask me _that_?" she demanded, incredulous.

"We need to get to know each other," he explained. "I thought it would be a good way to start."

She locked her gaze with his, searching for his real motive, but found nothing. If anything, he seemed… almost afraid. Of what? Was he still scared about losing the real Artemis? Whatever it was, he was afraid, and Holly couldn't help but feel sorry for him. "Sure," she agreed. "Where?"

"In town," he replied. "My knowledge of places to eat is rather antiquated, but I'm certain we can find a suitable restaurant."

"Okay," she agreed. There was nothing to lose, right? After all the confusion of her visit to the surface, she didn't _really_ want to go back to her job at the library. Also, now that the initial shock and pain of seeing this replica of her Artemis had worn off, she believed she could actually enjoy his company if she were to give it a chance. "Meet you in the foyer at six?"

He nodded and swept off, apparently forgetting about his lunch. She shrugged and went back into the kitchen, seating herself in front of her bowl of pasta.

Biddy, the young chef, regarded her with poorly hidden curiosity, and Holly indulged her. "He asked me out to dinner tonight," she said. Biddy giggled.

"I thought he might," she said. Holly looked at her and she elaborated, "Well, it's just that yer so pretty, miss. An' if he brought you here, chances are he likes you."

Holly returned her gaze to her pasta. "You think so?"

"That you're pretty?" Biddy looked taken aback. "O'course! Yer eyes are amazing."

"Thanks," Holly said almost shyly. Compliments among her own people had been few an far between; she'd been more likely to receive an insult on her extraordinary height or to overhear someone wondering about why her eyes looked strange than to be complimented. "I meant about the other thing."

"Well," said Biddy, chewing her lower lip pensively, "it's kinda hard to tell. I mean, I don't see much of you two together, but among the staff we have a sort of grapevine, you see. Joe sees this, he tells Liam. Liam tells it to Rosie, who also saw something, and so on."

Holly nodded her understanding, popping the last noodle into her mouth.

"Can I get y'anything else, miss?" Biddy inquired, taking her bowl away and tucking it into the dishwasher.

"Um, no, thank you," Holly declined politely. "It would be okay if I were take a walk on the grounds, wouldn't it?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm sure it would be," Biddy replied. "Enjoy yourself!"

"I will," Holly assured the girl, leaving the kitchens with a wave. She headed out the back exit and picked a direction, losing herself on the familiar paths.

When she returned to the house, the afternoon was growing late. She made her way to her bedroom and changed into a fresh shirt and pants, even giving her hair a quick brush. She headed for the foyer and entered just as Artemis made it to the door. Together, they walked through the entrance and were greeted by the sight of a sleek back limousine. The driver opened the door for them and Holly climbed in first, seating herself and buckling her seatbelt while Artemis joined her.

They pulled away from the curb and were off. The ride was not long, and before she knew it, they were coming to a stop again and the door was opened. Artemis, sitting closest to the exit, was the first out and he extended a hand to help her. She was aware of passer-bys' eyes on them as she smoothed out her calf-length pants from the wrinkles of sitting.

They were downtown, it seemed. The sidewalks were busy, full of young people. A woman passed by in high heeled boots that clicked annoyingly on the pavement, but they were not why Holly noticed her. The slight wind shifted her long hair, revealing pointed ears. Holly stared open-mouthed after her.

"She—she has—" she tried in vain to piece together a sentence. The People were here, in the open?

"Many people do," Artemis laughed. "Cosmetic surgery has branched into realms that border on sick." She took a moment to process what he'd said and then glared up at him, offended. "No, I was referring to the people who look like they're more cat than human. Don't worry," he amended, brushing a finger over the tip of her ear. She shivered involuntarily. "I like your ears as they are."

Since when had they become so friendly? Uncomfortable, she folded her arms around her middle and did not meet his gaze.

"What about this?" he asked, startling her out of her reverie. They stood before a large, obviously high-end restaurant. She frowned.

"Maybe something a little simpler?" she requested. "I'm not exactly dressed for a place like that." _Nor am I comfortable in that sort of company_, she added to herself.

He nodded, seeming to understand, and led her away. It was not long before they stood before a small, eat-in pizza place. "This looks good," Holly commented. "Alright with you?"

He nodded again and followed her in. They were greeted immediately by a chubby man in an apron.

"For two?" he inquired cheerfully.

"Yes, please," Artemis replied. They were brought to a window table draped in the classic red and white checker tablecloth and given menus.

"Can I get you two anything to drink?" the waiter asked.

"Water," Artemis requested.

"Um…" Holly stalled for time as she looked over the beverages section. "How about a chocolate milkshake?"

"Comin' right up," said the man, taking off with a grin.

The pair at the table opened their menus without a word to each other and scanned over the columns. Pizza, pasta, hamburgers… for such limited sections, there was a surprising number of options. Holly was just settling on an alfredo fettuccini with mushrooms and asparagus when their waiter returned.

"Milkshake for the lady," he hummed, settling an almost-overflowing glass in front of her that was easily bigger than her head. "And water for you, monsieur." He wiped his hands of condensation on his apron and smiled broadly. "Have you decided, or would you like another minute?"

"I'm ready," said Holly, "Artemis?"

He handed his menu to the waiter. "Tortellini with cream sauce, sun dried tomatoes, and Italian sausage."

"Er, sir," faltered the waiter, "that's not on the menu."

"I know," Artemis sipped his water placidly. Holly shot him a warning glance but he failed to catch it. She told the balding man what she wanted and tried to look apologetic for her companion's oddities. Once the waiter was gone, she rounded on said companion.

"Artemis…" she threatened.

"They have the ingredients," he said, pulling a small white bottle from his jacket pocket. "It will be no great stretch to make it." He shook the bottle and three little pills fell into his hand. He tossed them back with another swallow of water.

"You okay?" she asked, concerned. "What are those?"

"Painkillers," he said. "I've had a bad headache all day." He frowned as though trying to think of why, and then shook his head and smiled. "Ah. I just remembered: I've been meaning to give this back to you…" He dug in his pocket again and took something out. Holding it out, flat in the palm of his hand, he offered it to her.

It was her wedding ring. Her brows furrowed as she reached out tentatively to take it. His hand clenched around her fingers, trapping them, and she stared up at him, oddly afraid. There was a strange look in his eyes, something she couldn't quite place, and she jerked her hand away.

"Take it," he said, reoffering it. She did, slipping her finger through it and retracting her hand.

"Thank you," she murmured.

A delighted shout from their right startled them both. "Getting engaged!" the waiter cried, bustling over to their table. "In my restaurant! Congratulations! Hey, Pablo!" he called over a man from near the kitchen doors, also dressed in an apron. "They're getting engaged!"

"Eh-hey!" Pablo laughed, "Meal's on us!"

"N-no," stammered Holly, mortified, "we're not—"

Artemis ignored the small crowd around them, his water glass held to his lips placidly, while she tried desperately to explain everything away without actually telling them anything. "Just leave it, Holly," he told her quietly. "If they want to give us a free meal, I see nothing wrong with it."

She made a noise that was part snort, part groan, and part sigh, and sank lower in her chair, trying to look enthusiastic for the benefit of the waiters. At last, they'd had enough and dissipated to 'give the lovebirds some quality time'.

Their food arrived shortly after, and Holly ate it quickly. She finished while Artemis was still picking at his, the plate almost full. He looked disinterested and detached, prodding the fat pieces of pasta with his fork.

"Not hungry?" she asked. He raised his eyes to look at her.

"No."

"Not even on our engagement night?" she joked, grinning. He simply looked down at his plate again. She frowned. "Are you feeling okay?"

He smiled but it came out as more of a wince. "Just a headache. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," she said, eyeing him as she stood. He'd taken so many painkillers already—this must be some headache. As he pushed himself out of his seat, he stumbled slightly, catching himself on the table.

"Everything okay, sir?" inquired the waiter, looking anxious.

"Yep," Holly lied, going over to support Artemis as he threatened to collapse again and slipping an arm about him. "A little too much to drink."

"Ahah," the server acknowledged as they disappeared out the door, forgetting that his customer had had only water. "Newlyweds… or newlyengageds… nah. Newlyweds sounds better." Shrugging, he picked up the dishes off their table.

By the time Holly got Artemis outside, he was practically unconscious. She was becoming increasingly worried, and as she searched his pockets for the little pager that would call the limo, her hands shook. She found it and pressed the button, then put it back where she'd found it and placed two fingers at his neck, trying to remember where a Human's pulse was. It took her far too long to find it, but once she did, she was somewhat reassured. His breathing was present but not remotely even. It seemed sometimes as if he was struggling to get enough air, gasping for it, and others his chest hardly rose at all.

The limo pulled up at the curb and the driver got out quickly, taking Artemis's limp form from where she'd set it on a conveniently located bench and depositing him gently in the backseat. She climbed in after him and the driver hopped back into the front.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Fowl Manor," Holly ordered, though her voice lacked command. It trembled with anxiety as she strapped Artemis in with a seatbelt. Was it food poisoning? Was he allergic to something? She bit her lip.

As they started moving, his head lolled to the side, onto her shoulder, his eyes opening briefly and a faint word slipping through his lips. "Holly—"

_Review, please?_


	8. 45 Years: Farewell to Memories

**Seven**

The drive back to Fowl Manor took a disproportionate amount of time. Since saying her name in a nightmare-stricken murmur, Artemis's head hadn't moved from Holly's shoulder.

"Artemis," she said, uselessly trying to wake him. "Come on, Artemis. We're back." He didn't stir. "We're home."

The driver opened the door and gently lifted his unconscious form from the backseat. Holly climbed out and followed several steps behind as they entered the manor, fiddling distractedly with her fingernails, clicking them together. _Tik-click-tik—tik-click-tik—_

This man was nothing to her. Or at least, he should be. They were as good as strangers to each other. She'd hardly met him and he'd hardly met her, though they knew each other perfectly. And yet she worried.

He was brought inside and laid on his bed, and then the driver left. Holly stared after him, surprised that he was leaving without any further ado, but then realized he was probably going to fetch a doctor. So, she perched herself carefully on the edge of the bedstead and waited. When no one came after a count of ten, she shot out of the bedroom and hunted the driver down.

"Aren't you going to get a doctor?" she demanded. She thought he looked taken aback, but it was hard to tell through his large sunglasses.

"No," he said, "There's no need to worry. Master Artemis has these fits often. He'll be awake in an hour or so." And he continued on his way, leaving Holly standing, tiny fists clenched and ready for a confrontation over medical help that was obviously not going to happen, in the hallway.

With an effort, she relaxed somewhat and headed back to Artemis's room. She lowered herself into a chair and leaned forward on her elbows, waiting. Gradually, the sound of his near silent breathing grew until it threatened to burst her eardrums, and she stood, pacing nervously to make her footsteps drown him out.

"Shut up, will you?" she snapped. He breathed on, barely audible again, cancelled out by her voice. She paced the length of the room twice more, then grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled. _Stop stressing yourself out,_ she told herself, _he'll be fine. Besides, it's not like you actually care about him, right?_ She flushed. _**No, no, I don't care about him,**_ she retorted at her inner voice, _**I just almost had sex with him last night.**_ She pulled her hair again.

An hour or so… how long was that? Slowly, she eased herself down onto the floor beside the bed, folding her legs beneath her. Looking up at him from there, it was so easy to forget who it was she was keeping a vigil over and believe she was back more than a hundred years in the past, watching her husband sleep before she climbed into bed herself. She stretched out a hand and swept it over his brow, pushing away some stray hairs.

The night dragged on, and bit by bit, Holly's head began to drift toward the bed like a paperclip to a magnet. She gave in to it and shifted to get more comfortable, settling on one hip and letting her legs protrude out behind her. Her cheek rested on her arm and her hand somehow made its way into Artemis's. She drifted off, terribly uncomfortable but too tired to care.

* * *

She was startled awake by a yell. Artemis sat bolt upright, eyes wide, breathing like he'd just run several kilometres. His pupils contracted in the half-light and focussed in on her, taking far longer than usual to process what he was seeing.

"Holly?" he questioned.

She hurriedly quirked a smile, hoping she hadn't still been holding his hand when he'd awoken. "You okay?"

He frowned, pressing three fingers to his temple as if trying to remember something. "I don't—" he raised his eyes suddenly, staring off into space again, "I don't—no. Something's wrong." He looked down at her again. "I can't remember."

"You can't remember what's wrong?" she asked, not understanding.

"No," he shook his head. "I can't remember what he did today. Holly, what day is it?"

"The twenty-second of July," she responded automatically, "Why?"

He slumped over, putting his face in his hands. "It's too early. Are you sure it's the twenty-second?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Why? What's wrong?"

"I should have at least half a year left," he said.

"What?" she demanded, "Artemis, what's wrong?"

"I can't remember," he said, looking at her through the cracks between his fingers with eyes that were fast approaching frantic.

"What—?" Holly began to question, but he cut her off.

"I _can't remember_," he repeated, and she understood.

"Your memories," she whispered, "_his_ memories… they've stopped." He just looked at her and she reached for his hand. So, he would truly never remember her as a lover or a wife. She'd known that, he'd told her, but it hadn't been real until now.

She pushed herself up onto the bed next to him and pulled him into a hug. He went willingly and there, with him in her arms, they were remade into something they both remembered being: friends. Holly wept onto his shoulder and told herself it would be enough.

It had to be.

* * *

She fell asleep like that, lulled by rain on the windows and Artemis's steady heartbeat. When she stirred, they were horizontal, her head resting on his chest and her hair splayed out around it. He had an arm over her, holding her lightly.

She picked herself up just enough to see his face. He was still sleeping, his mouth so slightly open it might have actually been closed. The greyish morning sunlight that comes after a night of rain floated into the room, settling over them in a soft haze.

Carefully, she climbed off him and from there, off the bed. It was not that she particularly _wanted_ to leave him—he was warm and comfy and generally pleasant to lie on top of—but the kitchen called.

To her slight disappointment, Biddy wasn't on shift. The kitchen was empty and silent as she fetched herself the ingredients of and made a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. It was surprisingly good, as she'd always found it to be, despite its gooey appearance and tendency to cling to the roof of her mouth.

When she'd finished, she put her dished away in the washer and headed out, not exactly sure to where. She wandered the house, mainly to keep her mind off Artemis and his memories. Crying with him had helped, but there was still a heavy weight pressing on her. She could only imagine how he must be feeling.

At that thought, she stopped dead in the hallway. She should be there to comfort him when he awoke. But on the other hand, what if her presence as a figment of his memories upset him further? Torn, she hesitated before heading for Artemis's bedroom.

He was still asleep, but as the door closed with a loud click behind her, his eyelids fluttered open. He smiled when he saw her, slipping a mask over his emotions with the ease of experience. "Good morning," he said, sitting up. She didn't fail to notice the brief frown of pain that rumpled his brow before he could cover it.

So he was going to pretend nothing was wrong, was he? She supposed it couldn't be too bad to play that game.

"Morning," she returned, seating herself next to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied. "I'm sorry I ruined our evening."

She smiled, looking down at her lap. "You had me worried for a while there." She punched his arm lightly and playfully. "Don't think you can just go ahead and pass out on me whenever you feel like it."

"I won't," he promised, setting a hand on her head friendlily. "What would you say about a rain-check on that dinner?"

"Tonight?" She fiddled with the bed sheet.

"Sure," he said easily.

"Let's not go into town," she proposed.

"A simple meal here?" he questioned.

"What about a picnic?" she smiled. He would never have thought of that; he could be so boring sometimes.

"Sounds good," he agreed, taking his hand from her head, letting fall back to his side but not before letting it slide through her hair. She raised her head and finally looked him in the eye, cracking the spell of the little game of forced cheerfulness. His fingers brushed over hers, finding the warm gold ring and touching it absently, experimenting in the difference of textures between it and her skin. The already-fractured spell shattered.

Holly's face crumpled. "I'm sorry, Artemis," she choked, "I'm so sorry! I know it shouldn't have happened for another few months, maybe even a year—it was probably because I came here! Because I triggered something, or—" she was forced to cut herself off when her voice snapped as she tried to restrain a sob.

"Holly," he held her face in his hands, rubbing little circles on her cheek with one thumb and trying to console her, "Holly, it's not your fault. It's no one's fault. It couldn't have been avoided; whether it happened now or a little later, it doesn't make a difference. Please, Holly. Don't cry."

She regarded him through squinted and tear-filled eyes, from under stray bits of hair that had draped themselves over her face and thick eyelashes, and then jerked away, rushing away from him with the clumsiness of high emotions and fled the room.

_Review?_


	9. 45 Years: One of Those Moments

_Thanks for all your wonderful reviews on the last chapter! They made me feel warm and fuzzy inside! _

**Eight**

It took an entire day and a half devoid of any Artemis sightings to make Holly worry. For all of yesterday, she'd figured he had the right to stay in his room if he wanted to, but when he wasn't at breakfast today or lunch, she decided it was high time someone got him out of there. She made her way determinedly to the large oak door of his bedroom and pressed an ear to it before knocking. There was no answer.

"Artemis?" she called, "It's Holly." Still no reply. "I'm coming in!" and without further ado she pushed the door open.

The object of her search was not to be seen. The curtains of the four-poster bed were drawn all the way around, and the rest of the room was empty, so it was to be presumed that he was either in the bed or not here at all. She drew back one of the crimson drapes carefully and peeked inside. He was there, lying on his back but awake, eyes staring glassily at the ceiling.

She had just come face to face with what she'd been like after she'd lost her baby. She would have wasted away and died had Artemis not managed to stick an IV in her arm and get some nutrients into her. That was certainly not something she was about to do, and unless she got someone else—which she also would not do; that had been one of the things she had not wanted most for the embarrassment and attention it would bring—there was nothing she could do.

"Artemis!" she grabbed his shoulders, touched his face, squeezed his cold hands, even shook him a little. He didn't respond. "Artemis! Come _on,_ you can't stay like this!"

He didn't move, didn't blink, and she tried again, her voice quickly gaining the blunt edge of hysteria. "Please! Frond, Artemis, wake up!"

He did not.

She rose and locked the bedroom door to guard against unwanted intruders who would interfere with her plan and then returned to his side. He could hear her, she knew he could, and so she'd decided that for as long as he didn't eat or drink, neither would she, and hopefully that would bring him out of it. Hopefully.

* * *

The next day, Holly was still there, thirst and hunger beginning to wear away at her resolve. The day after that, and they had become an obsession. As the hours ticked away, her mind relived gourmet meals from long ago and taking long draughts of water after getting back from LEP training session. Finally, her voice cracked and scratchy from lack of liquid, she spoke again.

"Artemis," she whispered. "I know how you feel—" she cut herself off when she realized how clichéd and shrink-ish she sounded. "Look, Artemis." She tried a different approach. "If you don't bloody wake up soon, _I'm_ gonna die too. And then you really will have lost everything of him, because besides the dead walls and the rest of this house, I'm all you have left of him." She raised her head wearily to look for any reaction. There was none and she felt the painful squeeze under her eyes as they tried to summon tears that didn't exist. "Did you know that I once was like this too? I bet you didn't. It was just after my—my baby—" Apparently just because she had no tears to cry didn't mean that her throat couldn't get choked up. She stopped trying to tell him so unemotionally and smiled sadly to herself. "I bet you didn't even know that I was pregnant once. Hnh, yep, the great Commander Holly Short in maternity clothes. Go ahead, laugh at the image. I know you want to." She stopped again to pass her hands over her face. "Oh…" she groaned. "Come on, Artemis. I want to live, and I want you to live too."

She watched his face for any movement, but still there was none. "Artemis, I—" _I love you._ She wanted to say it, she wanted to tell him that because if he heard it he would wake up, she knew it. But her conscience wouldn't let her because she wasn't even sure if she _did_ love him. She loved her husband. Her husband was Artemis Fowl. This was Artemis Fowl reincarnated. Logic dictated that therefore, she loved the man lying in front of her. Her heart said otherwise—a confused, jumbled melody that seemed to have broken a few strings sometime during the concert.

She laughed wryly. "Well, look at it this way. If you don't wake up, we'll never know if I do or don't. So, what do you say? Feel like waking up?" No response. "No," she rocked backwards onto her butt, "Of course you don't."

"W—water," came a terribly hoarse voice from the bed. She shot to attention and smiled broadly, her lips cracking. "Thank you," she said and leaned over him to kiss him lightly in her elation. When she pulled away, there was blood on his lips, and she realized it was her own with some relief.

"Nice to see you too," he croaked, feebly running his tongue over his lips. "But could I have some water please?"

She nodded and dashed away, energy renewed by seeing him animated again. She struggled momentarily with the bolt on the door and then booted it down to the kitchen, where she grabbed two large water bottles from the fridge and rushed them back upstairs. Only once she'd helped Artemis sit up and handed him his did she take gulp of hers.

Nausea washed over her and she gagged as her stomach jumped in surprise at the almost-forgotten substance. Artemis was slightly worse off, but luckily when he heaved and attempted to vomit, there was nothing to come up but the water. Bravely, he took another gulp and managed to keep it down.

He gave her a smile after he'd succeeded in drinking half of the bottle. "Thank you," he said. "Will you tell me more about your life with him?"

She nodded. It would be painful, but if it kept him from returning to depression, she would do it. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything you want to tell me," he replied easily. She raised an eyebrow.

"And so I should start from…?"

"When did you get married?" he asked.

"He asked me to marry him when he was thirty," she responded. "We got married the next summer."

"When did you become involved with each other?" he asked seriously. She choked.

"'Become involved'?" she echoed with a laugh. "He was twenty… seven? No, twenty-eight."

"Will you tell me how?" he queried, looking innocent and taking another sip of water.

"I got drunk," she giggled uncharacteristically, lost in the memories. "He found me walking along the side of the highway, bottle in hand. It was my birthday, and none of my underground friends had remembered it. So, I figured I'd come see Artemis, he'd remember, but when I got to his house, he was out. So, I went into his cellar and stole a couple bottles of wine. I only got through half of one—I guess fairy metabolism isn't as well equipped to handle alcohol as I'd though—before I couldn't see straight, let alone walk properly.

"I stumbled along the road and he pulled up in his car and grabbed me and loaded me in. He said he had a birthday present for me and he was just heading home to wrap it to give it to me, but that I'd caught him as the procrastinator he was and so he'd just give it to me now. It was a key; he said it was the key to his heart. It was so cheesy I slapped him," she laughed again, "I don't think I hit him hard. At least, he didn't complain, but that was probably because right after that I kissed him, and from there…" she flushed lightly and then coughed delicately. "The next morning should've been one of those, 'D'arvit! What the hell are you doing in my bed?!' mornings, but for some reason I was okay with the fact that I was lying on top of him, naked. We decided it was long past time we did something like that anyway and—" she looked at him from the corner of her eye. He looked slightly embarrassed to be hearing all this, but interested at the same time. "And proceeded to do it again. And then we decided we should really be a couple from now on."

Artemis chuckled a little, his cheeks a healthy red. "Okay, I think that's enough information." He held out an arm for her to join him on the bed and she complied, sitting cross-legged next to him. "Do I dare ask any more questions?"

"I don't know," she said innocently, "Do you?"

"Perhaps over some dinner?" he suggested.

"Sure," she agreed readily and hopped off the bed. He followed, albeit more slowly, and they headed for the door. Holly stopped halfway. "Did you mean go out for dinner? Or stay here for dinner?"

"I meant go out for dinner," he said, "but seeing what happened last time…"

"I'm game if you are," she said. He nodded. "Okay. I think we'd better change first." She held out her arms to emphasize her old shirt that she'd worn for several days in a row and caught a whiff of herself. "And have a shower. We definitely need to take a shower."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm assuming you mean separately."

She opened her mouth to reply but had to make several attempts. "Of course I mean separately!" she snapped, embarrassed, annoyed, and insanely happy to be bantering with him just as she'd done with the original. Granted, it was a little strange that they were both so energetic after almost dying of thirst, but she would gladly choose to overlook it if it meant she could have a normal, happy dinner with him.

* * *

An hour, five glasses of water, three bathroom breaks later, Holly was standing in front of the main entrance in a knee-length skirt and short-sleeved shirt that one of the maids had handed her from one of the house's many closets. Artemis opened the door for her and they headed out. A limo took them into the city and they found a small take-out pizza place, got two slices each, and then went back out onto the streets to find a park to sit and enjoy the food in.

They came across one fairly soon, an open green space dotted with huge old trees that spread itself over an area about the size of two city blocks. They sat down on a wooden bench under one of the lamps that traced the paths. They ate quietly, each too hungry to speak as they devoured the food. Once she'd finished, Holly licked her lips and took a sip from her water bottle.

"That was good," she commented. He nodded. They sat in silence for another minute or so, Holly swinging her legs aimlessly back and forth underneath the bench and listening to a street musician who'd started playing from somewhere nearby.

"What's your last name?" he asked suddenly. She looked up at him, surprised.

"Well," she said slowly, "I go by Short because if anyone knew I was married to Artemis Fowl… it would be very bad. Underground, I would be banished as a co-conspirator. Aboveground, I would be revealed as a fairy, and _that_ would be very bad. But my name is Holly Fowl."

The street musician's song changed from a brilliant rendition of the Spring movement of Vivaldi's Four Seasons to a slower number. Artemis stood and gallantly offered her his hand. "Well, Mrs. Fowl. Care for a dance?"

"I never liked being called that," she told him, but stood anyway, hesitantly slipped her hand into his. "And I should really warn you that I haven't done this in a _long_ time." She laughed slightly nervously as his other hand settled on the small of her back. "So if I crush your foot, don't blame me."

"I don't think it's possible for you to crush my feet," he commented.

"Hey!" she snapped, "Is that a dig about my height? I'm not that short anymore, you know!"

"No, no," he defended himself, "It was a compliment."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Uh-huh, really?"

"Really," he assured her with a smug smile. She shook her head with a little laugh.

"Fine," she caved. "Thank you."

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded, and they slid into the one-two-three, one-two-three pattern of a gentle waltz. She stumbled a little, one foot catching behind the other, but her hand on his shoulder steadied her and she boldly ploughed on. Though she'd never been a particularly graceful dancer, she found it surprisingly easy to fall back into the familiar motion of the simple steps and soon she was able to raise her head to look at Artemis instead of her feet.

"You're not that bad," he said. She didn't reply, concentrating too much on the steps. Of course, over concentrating on anything makes you mess up, just like thinking about walking makes the most habitual exercise difficult, and she tripped again. "Don't think so much," he instructed her as her gaze dropped to her feet again. "Look at me. Am I that ugly? Look at me."

She looked at him and slowly felt herself being pulled a little closer. She complied, though she worried about the now-heightened odds of her stepping on him. The song was changing again, going from a waltz to a soft ballad of sorts. Gently, he slipped his hand from hers and it joined his other on her waist, while hers rested itself on the back of his neck. This type of dancing was so much easier; just sway and turn in a slow circle.

Gradually, she drifted closer until her head leaned against his shoulder and her arms had wrapped themselves firmly about his neck. She felt fingers in her hair and she let her eyes slide closed, pressing her cheek into the fabric of his shirt and holding him even tighter. This was the sort of contact she'd been missing for all these years; this was the warmth of another person who cared for her. She shifted, taking her head back just a little, enough to set her lips against his jaw. He moved the rest of the way, both hands in her hair as he kissed her firmly, decidedly.

It was a short kiss, but not lacking in depths of meaning. They pulled away from each other and simultaneously decided it was time to head back to Fowl Manor. They went straight for the master bedroom once they'd arrived back, neither even remembering the fight they'd had only a few days ago on that very floor.

The floor, however, didn't really matter. It was simply a receptacle for their clothes as they were shed. There were no thoughts and no words, just hands and lips and two bodies that knew each other well.

* * *

When warm sunlight poured onto her face, Holly stirred. She yawned and stretched lazily, luxuriating in the silken sheets surrounding her and the comforting feel of the familiar room.

The familiar room.

Her eyes shot all the way open and she sat up, holding the covers over her bare chest. Artemis woke next to her, taking in her wide-eyed face and immediately assessing the situation.

"Is this one of those 'D'arvit! What the hell are you doing in my bed?!' moments?" he asked wryly, though his eyes were genuinely concerned for her.

How could she have done this? What about her Artemis, her husband, who she'd sworn to love for all time, no matter what? _What had she done? _She hid her face in her hands as tears overflowed and nodded.


	10. 45 Years: A Song She Didn't Know

**Nine**

Artemis sat up next to her and gently set a hand on her back. She jerked away.

"We shouldn't have done that," she said. "It was wrong."

"Do you regret it?" he asked. She couldn't quite bring herself to look at him, but nodded. Wasn't it obvious? "Why?" He wasn't giving up, and a dry sob hitched in the back of her throat.

"Because I love him," she choked. She could see him sag a little out of the corner of her eye, but she only half wanted to apologize.

"Why is everything _him_?" he demanded. "You love him, and yet—" he was angry. She chanced a slight glance back at him and found his brow furrowed and his eyes dark. "Am I his replacement?"

She couldn't reply. He was, in a way, but in another, he was his own person. His mannerisms were different, and he was less formal and more risk-taking. "Artemis—" she finally summoned the courage to turn and face him, though she kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself, holding the covers up over her chest. He was closer than she'd expected him to be, and when she tried to back away, his hands descended on her bare shoulders and held her in place.

"Don't run away," he said firmly. She couldn't struggle; her hands were busy keeping herself covered, and she was still unable to maintain eye contact. "Answer me. Am I his replacement?"

"No!" she blurted, and then, more honestly, "I don't know."

"Holly." He stared her down unrelentingly and she fidgeted uncomfortably, wishing he'd just go away and let her think in peace.

"Stop it," she whispered.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Why did you sleep with me if you still love him?" He shook her slightly, her body limp and doll-like under his hands. "Were you imagining that I was him? Were you?"

Her eyes filled with angry tears, she finally looked met his harsh and accusing stare. "Yeah," she admitted vehemently, "I was. Every touch—" she watched as her words slapped him in the face, "—every kiss—I wished you were him."

"You don't mean that," he said quietly.

"Yes, I do," she replied firmly. He looked hurt, more hurt than she'd thought he would be. He nodded slowly and swung his legs off the bed and stood, walking away to grab a bathrobe from a hook on the wall and slipping in on. Without another word, he disappeared out the door, leaving her to reflect on what she'd said.

It had been just sex, nothing but pure physical release, a brief escape from the world and all its complications. And yet he looked so upset that she'd simply used him for it without there being any real feelings between them. If she wasn't stark naked, she could almost be tempted to go after him and try to console him. Maybe bring him back to bed to make him feel better—_no, Holly. What under the world are you thinking?! That didn't work out so well last time, remember?_

She drew her knees up to her chest and stared after him at the door. What should she do? Following him and explaining would be the responsible, adult thing to do, sitting here and sulking that he'd taken it all so badly was childish, and sitting here contemplating what to accomplished nothing. Even after realizing that, she stayed where she was, and it wasn't until much later that it occurred to her that an apology might be in order.

Finally, she moved to the side of the bed and carefully stood, keeping the covers around her. Her clothes were all in her suitcase—except, of course, the ones she'd worn yesterday, but she had no idea where they'd gotten to; they didn't appear to be anywhere in the room—which was still in one of the guest rooms in the other wing of the house. She went to the door and opened it part way, then closed it again and headed for the closet instead. She took a dark green jumper off its hanger and pulled it over her head, letting the white sheet fall to the floor. It was large enough that it came to her knees, and so instead of taking a pair of pants as well (which would have been so big she would've had difficulty walking), she stayed simply in the huge sweatshirt.

She left the bedroom and padded along the hallways silently, rushing a little and pausing to peer around corners before venturing down them herself, on guard for the servants. The stone floors were frigid beneath her feet, effectively chilling the rest of her.

Thankfully, she made it to her room without incident and changed into her own clothes. From there, she left again to go wander, wishing she would run into Artemis and also hoping that she wouldn't.

The latter was the side of her that was satisfied for the entire day. She took her search outside as the sun began to set and eventually found her way to the landing pad, where only one of the two aircraft sat. Frowning, she touched a hand to a computer panel.

"Good evening," it said flatly.

"Um," Holly stumbled, taken aback, "Where is the second plane… thing?"

"Please restate the question," the computer intoned.

"The second aircraft," she repeated, slowly and clearly, "Where is it?"

"Please restate the question," it said again. Holly groaned. _This_ was why she didn't use her computer very often.

"Where is the second aircraft?" she snarled.

"Tracking," said the computer. "Please wait." She tapped her foot in annoyance. "Secondary aircraft is on the landing platform at Ortega Manor, in Spain."

Spain. He'd gone back to Spain. She supposed it made sense; his memories had stopped far too early and so it was only logical that he'd want to get himself checked out by Mr. Ortega to make sure he was okay. Relatively speaking, of course. There were probably some serious mental issues going on at the moment—likely there had been for most of his life.

The computer spoke again, inquiring politely if there was anything else it could do for Holly, but she was already halfway to the plane and didn't hear it. She quickly closed the hatch behind her and sunk into the pilot's chair, hands hesitating before coming down on the controls. It had been a long time since she'd last flown a fairy pod, let alone some rickety Mudman contraption. Taking a deep breath and praying the thing had emergency autopilot should she press the wrong button and send herself into a nosedive, she located the buttons she _should_ need to power it up: fuel battery on and wings out. The consoles lit up around her and she gave a slight sigh of relief that she hadn't gone boom, and then slid a finger along a bar marked elevation. Out the windows in front of her and the glass panel beneath her, she saw the ground drop away at frightening speed and felt g-forces press her down uncomfortably into the seat.

"Right," she muttered to herself, "Forgot the shield." She scanned the controls quickly. "Shield, shield… where art thou, shield?"

She was very happy that the craft could maintain a stationary hover, because if it couldn't, she would be very squished and most likely very dead. Finally, she found a button with a simplistic picture of the plane and a bright bubble surrounding it, and pressed it. Once she had her finger on it, she realized that the diagram also sort of resembled an explosion.

She did not explode, however, and when she located the steering mechanism (a flat, blank, touch-sensitive square, somewhat similar to a finger-mouse pad on an old computer) and sent herself forward, there was no pressure on her body. She pulled it up to a clumsy stop and reflected that this was almost fun. Almost.

She lost no time in seeking out the destination input and autopilot controls and entered Ortega Manor. Smiling faintly at the childish simplicity of it, she hit 'GO' and away she soared, the speedometer climbing so fast the numbers blurred, even to her sharp eyes.

A calm voice came over the loudspeakers. "Your destination is Ortega Manor. You will be alerted by a beep—" the computer gave a demonstrative beep "when you are five minutes from your destination. Do you wish to be alerted at another time?"

"Um, no," she said.

"Have a pleasant flight," the computer wished her, and then she was left in silence. And actual silence, too. The engines, even, were inaudible. The only sound was her blood rushing through the veins in her ears.

She closed her eyes, intending to sleep to pass the time, but the pulsing began to infiltrate her mind, denying her of her rest. She shifted in the chair just to make some noise, but the effects were soon lost. She hummed a tuneless melody to herself but _that_ sound was even more annoying than the original and she cut herself off.

"_Flow gently, sweet Afton, along thy green grave…_" She didn't realize she was singing until she ran out of lyrics. It was a song she'd heard Angeline Fowl singing to the twins to put them to sleep on many occasions when she'd been staying late at Artemis's to work on some project or another. The only words she knew were the first line, and even those she wasn't sure of. 'green grave'? It sounded a little morbid for a lullaby, but she couldn't remember what else it might have been. She knew the way it sounded, though, and so she sang that to herself, wordlessly, just a simple, slightly off-tune melody.

It was the song she'd sung to herself so many years ago, during the nights when Artemis was away on business, alone in bed and pregnant. She put one hand over her eyes and the other on her abdomen, fighting another bout of tears. Even after being away from the LEP and Section 8 for so long, she was still a tough cookie. She always had been. But losing her child had shaken her to the core and it was one of the few things that made her cry almost every time she thought about it. There were others—among them her father and her little brother, a certain episode of a very old television series, and of course Artemis Fowl II—but her baby was the most effective tear-jerker.

This song, the one she didn't know, was quickly being added to that list.

_Okay, I'd like to apologize for the long wait for this chapter. I've been very busy with school and life in general—my aunt was visiting and so I've hardly been at home, ergo I've had very little time to do homework, let alone write. Forgive me?_


	11. Tabula Rasa

_Phew. I am now officially into the double-digits! Yay! Or… not yay; this story is dragging on for longer than I intended. Guess I can't keep torturing them so. Ah well._

**Ten**

Holly settled the aircraft onto the landing pad with only minor difficulty. The sky was dark as she hopped out the hatch but the area was well lit. Recalling the way from several days—was it only days?—ago when she was in a cast and wheelchair, she made her way to the manor house. A butler opened the door for her.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"I'm looking for Artemis," she said. "Is he here?"

"Who's asking?" the man's eyes narrowed.

"I'm Holly Short," she lied smoothly. "I'm a guest here. Artemis and I went to Ireland for a few days, and he had to return earlier today, but I wanted to stay behind to see some more sights. Is he here?"

"Maybe," he said distrustfully, pulling out a small walkie-talkie. "Sir? I've got a Holly Short here for Master Artemis." She didn't hear the person on the other end's reply. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. Alright, sir, if you say so." He turned his attention back to the elf. "Come right in, Miss Short."

He led her inside and through a veritable maze of corridors, then at last stopped in front of an elaborately carved door, bowed, and left. How he'd known where Artemis was was beyond her, but she dismissed it and knocked hesitantly.

"Come in," he called from within. She pushed the heavy door open and stood in the opening until he looked up from his desk. His entire posture changed as he registered her presence. "Good evening," he said stiffly. She opened her mouth to speak but he continued. "Did you take the plane here? Of course you did; how else could you have gotten here so quickly? Did you know that its maximum speed is—"

"Artemis, I'm sorry," she blurted. He shut up, his awkward and rambling speech coming to an abrupt close.

It took him a moment to come up with a reply. Finally, "Yeah, well I am too. There, done. Leave, please."

"What?" she took a step forward. "No, I am _not_ leaving! I just said I was sorry for something that _I _have no regrets about! Yeah, I was using you because you remind me of him, but I—" _I do care for you._ She pressed the heel of one hand against her eye. She couldn't say it, not when she wasn't sure that it was true. She knew she was still in love with the old Artemis, and she certainly cared for this one, but was that only because of the semblance between them? Was the only reason she felt so many things toward the man standing before her now that he looked and sometimes acted like the original Artemis Fowl II?

"But what?" he pressed.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

"So you were using me, plain and simple." His voice was hard, accusing, and… hurt.

"Artemis—" She'd always hated arguing with him. It was impossible to get anywhere, and she compared it to shouting at a wall to grow legs and walk of the way. Of course, Artemis was a very _smart _wall, which made him all the more frustrating. She took a deep, calming breath. "Look. I really don't want to fight with you. Can't we just say the whole thing was one big mistake and leave it at that?"

"You said you didn't regret it," he pointed out, "so saying it was a mistake, speaking from both our perspectives, of course, would be a lie, wouldn't it?"

"Not all mistakes are regretted," she returned wearily. Couldn't he just agree? For once? It was getting late and she hadn't gotten a full night's sleep for far too long. How long had it been? She began to count the days but got distracted by him speaking again.

"I would agree that it was a mistake," he said. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good," she nodded and went to leave.

"Holly," he caught her at the door. She stopped and turned. "We can still… be friends?"

She smiled genuinely; he'd forgiven her. "Of course," she said softly and slipped out the door.

This was her new beginning. From here, she would start over, build a new friendship with this man and base her opinions of him solely on _him_, not on his predecessor. She would not allow any feelings she had for Artemis Fowl II to cloud her feelings for Artemis Ortega. What would happen would happen, and she would not pressure the universe into acting hastily.

* * *

Three weeks passed quickly, during which Artemis and Marcus Ortega worked through some minor psychological problems regarding the loss of his memories. Holly hung around, helping them when she could but mainly simply being a solid presence for Artemis. She was good for him, dragging him out of the house—sometimes quite literally—to go for walks in town or on the grounds, or even to just bring his computer outside and work by the river. They played a modernized version of basketball from time to time, in which Artemis, with his superior height, has a distinct advantage. She much preferred volleyball, where her speed helped her score points and often won her the game. For each of them, the heavy clouds that had hung over them for so long were lifting away, and laughter was frequent. 

Holly, however, was not laughing at the moment. She was sitting, fully clothed, on the closed toilet seat, a small whitish stick held in shaking hands. A faint pink mark was slowly appearing unobtrusively on the tiny display screen. She set the stick down in her lap and leaned her head against the wall, hoping to whatever gods might be listening that pregnancy tests had changed enough over the years to have made pink mean negative. She stumbled to the counter, test clutched in her fist, where the box lay beside the sink and picked it up, frantically searching for the directions.

"_If a blue line appears,"_ she read, "_you are not pregnant. If the line is pink, you are. Please consult a doctor as soon as possible to ensure that you will have a healthy—" _She let the box fall to the floor and sank down next to it. _Not again, _she thought, _oh please, Frond, not again. Isn't once enough?_

What was she going to do? The baby would not survive, she knew. Should she tell Artemis or just let it go unmentioned? Last time, it'd lived long enough to expand her belly considerably; surely he'd notice. Unless… unless she went back to Atlantis.

That was what she would do. He wouldn't have to know and that would save him much concern and maybe even some guilt. Still shaky, but determined, she stood and marched toward the door. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—frazzled hair, blotchy face, red eyes—and stopped short. She returned to the sink and used a facecloth to wash up a bit. She dampened her hands and ran them through her hair until it lay flat again. She towelled off and took another look in the mirror. Much better.

She rushed out of the bathroom and down the corridors to her bedroom (she'd upgraded from guest room to bedroom halfway through the first week) and took her belongings from the drawers, digging her suitcase out of the closet and piling them all in. She slung it up onto her shoulder and was off again at a speedy walk that was almost a run. She was just out the door and halfway across the first stretch of lawn when she heard Artemis calling after her. She sped up to a full run. He couldn't know, it would hurt him.

"_Holly!_" he caught up to her and grabbed her arm to stop her. "Where are you going?" he demanded. She avoided his gaze and didn't answer. "Where?"

"Atlantis," she said quietly.

"Why?" he took her by both shoulders.

"I have to go home," she muttered lamely. "My… mom wants to see me."

"Your mother is dead," he reminded her. She raised her head, startled that he'd say it so bluntly. Yes, her mother _was_ dead, she'd been dead for nearly sixty years. Still, so just say it was… strange. Impolite. "Why are you leaving?"

"I have to go home," she repeated, with more emotion this time but not more conviction.

"And you didn't think that I might like to at least say goodbye?" he wasn't angry, she could tell. More surprised and a little hurt.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "Please, I need to go."

"I want to know the real reason you're leaving," he pressed. "If it was so important that you couldn't even waste enough time to stop by my office and say goodbye, it must be pretty serious—"

"I'm pregnant!" she blurted. _D'arvit. Now you've done it._

"—and really, Holly, by now you should know that I can help you with whatev—_what_?" His expression was cliché and comical.

"I'm pregnant," she repeated. His eyes dropped instinctively to her belly. "Oh, come on. Don't look so surprised," she folded her arms, suddenly self-conscious. "It's not like we took any measures to prevent it."

"Well, no," he admitted, "but I thought—you couldn't—it isn't—oh god. It is mine, isn't it?"

"No," she drawled sarcastically, "It's Mulch's."

"He's dead," he dismissed the remark distractedly. "Are you sure it's mine?"

"Pretty darn." She bit her lip. _Please don't get mad, please don't get mad, please don't get mad…_

"That's…" he was at a loss for words—she would've been amazed under any other circumstances. "That's good. It's good. We're good."

"How can it possibly be good?" she wailed, "We're not even a couple!" She squeezed her eyes shut. "Not that it really matters," she added miserably, "It's not going to survive."

"Why on earth not?" he stared at her, horrified, "You didn't—did you?"

"It won't survive because human and elfin genes don't mix," she told him, shaking her head. "It happened last time and it'll happen now."

"Last… time?" He was processing things far more slowly and usual.

"You never wondered what happened to the baby last time I got pregnant?" she looked at him incredulously.

"I assumed it was grown up by now," he shrugged, "but I'd never put much thought into it, considering who the father was." Was he implying that he was jealous of her and the old Artemis? She dismissed it.

"Long story short, I miscarried," she said crisply, "Because our genes weren't compatible. And being as you and him are basically the same person, there's no reason for anything to be different this time."

"We are not the same person," he said firmly. "We're like twins; almost completely genetically identical but very different individuals. Secondly, just because one baby's genes didn't work doesn't mean that this one's also won't."

"What?" she watched him closely, wishing desperately that he'd tell her that she hadn't created a life only to sentence it to death.

"It's just like all interspecies breeding," he explained, "A certain sequence of genes might be fatal while another could produce a healthy offspring." He smiled. "It'll be okay, Holly."

"You don't know that," she pointed out pessimistically.

"No," he admitted. "But isn't it better to believe that it will than to just wait for it to die?"

Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it is better." She gave him a wobbly smile. "Sometimes, I'm actually glad you're a genius."

He laughed. "Only sometimes?"

"The other times, you're insufferable," she informed him.

"Oh, Holly!" he donned a cheesy British accent and head a hand to his heart in mock agony, "You wound me so!"

She covered the hand on his chest with her two tiny ones, not really in the mood for such joking, no matter how much it might take her mind of the important things, and asked softly, "What are we going to do?"

_There really is a depressingly unbalanced ratio between the people who read the chapters and the ones who are nice enough to review. You should know that I don't update _ever_ until I have at least five reviews. Come on, guys. Five isn't that much! I always get more than that, and that's why the updates keep coming. All of you who read it and don't review are just piggybacking on those who do. :) End rant._


	12. An Act of Love

**Eleven**

Artemis dropped his gaze. "I… don't know." The simple phrase, coming from him, scared her more at that moment than anything else. If he didn't know, who did?

"Artemis…"

He met her eyes and she saw her own fear reflected in them. "Are you still going back to Atlantis?" he asked hesitantly. She shook her head.

"I just didn't want you to know," she said, "I thought there was no chance it would live, so there was no point in telling you and making you worry." She shook her head. "I don't know. I just thought it would be better if you didn't know." She looked away, "I'm sorry. It was stupid of me."

"It's fine," he said. Silence stretched between them for a moment. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

She was about to refuse—what she really wanted to do was go inside and find a tub of that _really_ good chocolate ice cream with the fudge chunks and eat it all; it had always helped her feel better before—but realized it might be good for her to spend some time with Artemis rather than holing up by herself. "Sure."

They set off towards the stream, walking close but not touching, and dancing around discussing anything baby-related. Once they'd reached the narrow channel of water, they followed it until they came to a place where it widened into a large pond. Holly plunked herself down under a large willow, leaning back against its gnarled bark and letting the cool breeze stir her hair. After a moment of standing, hands clasped behind his back, and looking out over the small field on the other bank, Artemis joined her. She moved sideways to allow him enough room to sit comfortably without brushing up against her her.

"Nice day," he commented. She looked up through the branches overhead at the sky. It was solidly clouded, the entire thing painted in varied shades of grey. The air was warm and bordering on muggy, but the slight breeze was enough to keep it pleasant. She nodded her agreement; she'd always liked cloudy days. "It will probably rain soon." She nodded again.

"This is stupid!" she exclaimed after a short silence. He looked down at her, startled. "Here we are, having just found out that we're going to have a baby, and we're talking about the weather!"

"What should we be doing, then?" he asked.

She looked out over the field for a long moment in silence, then turned to him and said with a rueful grin, "I have no idea."

He took a second or so to react, but then her smile spread onto his face. "We'll take this as it comes," he said, putting a kind hand on her arm, "It'll all work out in the end."

"Yeah," she agreed and stood. "So. Wanna play volleyball?"

"Are you sure that's… okay?" he asked, making an indistinct gesture at her belly.

She arched an eyebrow and stared him down, "If you're going to treat me like I'm made of glass for nine months, it sure as hell won't be okay," she threatened, "At least, not for you. Be fine for me; I could just sit around on your balcony all day, read books, eat chocolate…" She grinned again and beckoned, "Come on, let's go."

Time passed slowly for the residents (and the sort-of-guest) of Ortega Manor, but not due to boredom. There was plenty to do and the days were all pleasant and very enjoyable, and Holly found herself feeling more and more like a part of the family. Marcus Ortega was always kind to her, treating her like a daughter, and he sat beside her now, almost six months after the fateful day she'd nearly fled back to Atlantis.

"You know," he said, leaning back on the park bench, hands folded behind his head and a peaceful smile on his face, "I've always regretted not having any daughters. Artemis has been a good son, but he's just not a girl."

Holly laughed and agreed, "No, he certainly isn't."

Marcus looked over at her, and said, after a short pause, "Even though I have just met you, it's easy to believe you really are my daughter. And," he added, a mischievous glint in his greyish eyes, "if you ever feel like marrying Artemis, you go right ahead."

She chuckled again and looked down at her folded hands, a little embarrassed. A moment of silence later, she raised her head to look at the small tech shop that the subject of their discussion had gone into. It was owned by an old acquaintance of his, one he'd collaborated with on several new-fangled gadgets a few weeks ago. They'd been taking a walk in town when he'd decided to stop in and pay the young man a visit. Holly and Marcus, both tired from being on their feet for so long, had elected to wait outside and take the opportunity to rest until he returned. He'd said he would only be a few minutes.

It had been at least an hour.

Holly sighed. Sure, she had a good enough mind to be able to entertain herself by just thinking for a while, but an hour was pushing it. Marcus made good company, but he wasn't the chattiest sort, mostly speaking when he had something to say. She kicked her sandal-clad feet idly in the dusty ground beneath the bench. _Come _on_, Artemis… haven't you had enough of discussing fancy chunks of metal?_

At last, as if in answer to her budding irritation, he emerged from the shop and strode across the street toward them. They stood and he joined up with them as they began to walk back toward where they'd left the car.

"How was Miguel?" Marcus asked.

"Fine, as usual," Artemis replied. "He had a prototype beryllium detector he wanted me to look at."

"Why would he need a beryllium detector?" Holly asked, one eyebrow lifted.

He shrugged, "It's Miguel we're talking about here. I'm sure he'll be able to find a use for it, and if not, he can always sell it."

"True," she said, though she doubted anyone in this end of town would want to buy a beryllium detector. "Was it working?"

"Somewhat," Artemis replied with a light laugh. "Miguel's good at designing things, but not so great at building them. It needs a little more work."

They came up on their car, and as they all piled in, Holly noted with vague annoyance that he hadn't apologized for taking so long. Even after all this time, it seemed she still hadn't managed to instil some proper manners into him. She sighed again.

That afternoon, once they got back to Ortega Manor, was full of preparations for dinner. Marcus had invited several of his colleagues over for the evening, and so there was much cleaning to be overseen and a large meal was a necessity. Holly, despite Marcus's and Artemis's protestations, had muscled her way into the broom closet and swept some of the floors herself. She'd even managed to guilt Artemis into helping her by holding a dustpan, something she'd quickly discovered he was terrible at.

Between their dubious assistance and all the servants' trained efforts, they managed to get the entire house spotless in under two hours—a feat that seemed insanely impressive to Holly. It took her three hours to clean her apartment, just four little rooms whose total square-footage was probably equal to that of the Ortega dining room.

The servants retreated into the kitchen to start work on the dinner and Holly let them go without her, knowing she would definitely be more of hindrance than a help were she to follow them. Instead, she glanced at the clock—two hours until the guests arrived—and headed for her room. Once there, she called her preperator, as she liked to call the woman, to give her a hand with picking out a suitably fashionable dress and styling her hair. At first, she'd been embarrassed when Marcus had recommended she get some help, and more than a little offended until he explained that he meant no harm but simply thought that it would be a nice change for her to have a professional do her hair and makeup. She'd tried to explain that she didn't wear makeup and that a ponytail or a variation on it was always fine, but after she'd seen the kind of women that came to the Ortega dinners, she'd changed her mind and accepted the offer.

Now, she'd come to be quite relaxed with the whole idea of having said professional, Aina Torres, flutter around with a multitude of beauty products, each of them with a _very_ distinct purpose, as Holly was promptly informed after pondering aloud the practicality of having six types of conditioner. Yes, the, the rough, tough, ex-Section 8 Commander Holly Short had a stylist.

Within a minute, Aina was bustling through the door and already giving orders. Holly didn't mind her bossiness at all; it was a refreshing change from the other employees of the Manor who all simply bowed or curtsied and did exactly as told but nothing more. Aina treated her as if she was an old friend, which she had rather become over the months they'd spent together. She even made Holly do some of the simpler tasks involved in getting her ready for an evening with company, like running the bath in the bathroom adjoining her bedroom as she was doing now. As instructed, Holly had poured in some bubble-oil, and as the water filled the tub, the smell of strawberries grew stronger in the room. She smiled and turned the tap off when the bath was full, then stripped off and eased herself through the foam into the hot water. Tipping her head back, she let her eyes slip closed, as always enjoying the soak.

Much sooner than she would have preferred, Aina came into the bathroom and set about washing Holly's hair. At the beginning, Holly had been embarrassed to the point of protesting at the other woman's presence while she sat naked in the tub, but gradually she'd grown more comfortable with it. Of course, the addition of a thick and very opaque layer of bubbles helped. She sighed as skilled fingers scrubbed at her scalp, freeing layers of dirt and old skin that otherwise would have lingered. When she'd finished, Aina brought Holly a towel and left while the elf dried herself off. Once dry enough, she wrapped the towel around herself and tucked it in to stay—though she'd never actually been able to get it to hold without puffing out her chest, so she kept a hand on it as she opened the door to tell Aina that she was ready.

The stylist, who had been waiting outside the door, came back into the bathroom holding several dresses and Holly seated herself at the chair in front of the vanity mirror to watch as the articles were displayed to her.

"That one," she said, pointing at a knee-length white sun-dress, patterned with large green and blue flowers. It was one of her favourites, largely because it wasn't overly formal or stiff, and she'd worn it many times, though not always to these fancy dinners. Aina nodded and hung the others on hooks on the wall, handing the chosen dress to its owner, then leaving the room again. Holly slipped into it, glad the only buttons were on the side of the front, and therefore within sight and easy reach; she'd never been one of those girls who could do up their bra at the back.

Finished, she called Aina back in, and they set about fixing her hair. It was combed, run through with various products (she had stopped asking which ones after a while and now just let Aina have her way, no questions asked), dried, and then combed again. As pieces were lifted and pinned up, Holly found herself considering not for the first time how odd it was that no one cared that she had pointed ears. She knew the reason, she'd asked Artemis months ago, but it still seemed strange. Really, why under the world would Humans surgically alter themselves like that? Sure, pointed ears were more attractive than rounded ones, but the surgery was obviously detrimental to the tissue health of that area and sometimes had even been known to cause deafness. Mentally, Holly rolled her eyes. Humans.

As she returned to reality, she watched Aina as she manoeuvred the straight locks into waves, giving a gentle, casual summer style that matched the dress. It looked good, to Holly's mild surprise, suiting her face and making her just-barely-slanted eyes stand out, somehow. She smiled, "Thanks. It looks good."

Aina grinned at the praise. "I know, hm? Your hair is so pretty—I can do so much with it. Now, makeup?"

As always, Holly sighed. She was no fan of the stuff, always finding that it made her face itch, but she'd gotten used to wearing the small amounts that Aina insisted on: eyeliner, lipstick, et cetera, et cetera, and so she submitted, as usual, as it was applied.

When it was finished, she was permitted to look at her reflection and nodded her approval. "Thanks," she said again, with another smile.

"Not a problem," Aina said, heading for the door, "Enjoy your evening!"

Left alone, Holly slid off the chair and padded back into the main room, where she grabbed a pair of shoes, most certainly _not_ high heels, put them on, and departed, headed for Artemis's rooms.

She knocked politely and entered as he called his permission. He stood from his desk to greet her, taking her warmly by the arms and kissing her lightly on the cheek. "You look lovely," he said, just like he always did on these occasions. It was part of their warm-up for the act they had begun to put on during the meal and afterwards as Holly grew more and more visibly pregnant. Though the times had changed and babies born out of marriage were perfectly acceptable, two people who were just friends having a baby was a little odd, so for the sake of avoiding too many questions, they acted as though they were long-time lovers.

"Are you ready to go, darling?" she drew out the endearment sarcastically, characteristically enjoying teasing him lightly. The act had been his idea originally.

"I am," he replied, offering her his arm gallantly. "Shall we?"

"Yes," she agreed with a smile, and they were off.

They'd timed it beautifully, though rather unintentionally. The first guests were just stepping in the door as they came down the stairs into the foyer. Marcus was already there, greeting them, as well as two butlers who stood beside the doors, prepared to take any coats, hats, or whatever the guests handed to them.

Artemis and Holly joined the small crowd, shaking hands and exchanging the simplest of pleasantries, shook more hands as more guests arrived, exchanged more pleasantries, and then finally retreated to the dining room. The food was amazingly good, as it usually was in this house, and it disappeared quickly. After it was gone was when the real conversation began. The men of the table, stereotypically, discussed business among themselves, while their wives chatted like old friends about clothes, hair styles, their husbands, and their friends' husbands. Holly sat quietly for most of the conversations, only really speaking when spoken to, as those sorts of topics had never been terribly interesting to her. She answered properly and with a polite smile when asked about her baby, or her relationship with Artemis, but other than that, she said nothing.

Half an hour or so later, the group relocated to the living room, or parlour as Holly supposed it was called. She took a seat on one of the couches and Artemis seated himself beside her, slipping a subtle arm about her waist. She sat just as quietly as she had before, but the time spent sitting quietly in the parlour was very much more enjoyed than the time spent sitting quietly in the dining room. Not only was her seat more comfortable, she had Artemis right beside her and his arm around her, being a large, warm anchor in this metaphorical sea of strangers.

Things had been changing between them for the past couple of months, or at least, they had been from Holly's perspective. The more she got to know this Artemis, the more she discovered he was different from the first Artemis, and the more differences she found between them, the more those dissimilarities were okay with her. She knew she was falling in love with him, but she also knew that she had hurt him long ago and now she wasn't sure if he would trust her enough again to love her in return. It was a silly fear, a girlish one, even, but still it was there, and it haunted her and refused to let her act or even properly acknowledge her feelings to herself. She thought of these evenings they had, these little unknown and improvised plays, as a pleasant torment, however incredibly cliché that sounded. She figured she'd probably read it in some corny romance novel, but it fit the description.

So, sitting beside him, touching him, kissing him on the cheek and laughing with him in almost-perfect semblance of real lovers, she yearned to know that he wasn't faking it.

Suddenly, she felt ill, and not from the hideous shade of pink of Mr. Bates' wife's dress. She knew she'd eaten too much at supper, and this might be an aftershock of that, so to speak. She stood, trying to be as discreet as possible. "Excuse me," she said as the numerous faces in the room turned to her, "I have to use the… the…" What was it they called it in Spain? Bathroom? Loo? She couldn't remember, but she knew that it she didn't sit down somewhere, preferably in front of a sink and where others couldn't see her, she was going to throw up. She settled on bathroom, and fled, missing Artemis's concerned look.

She hurried down the hallways with one hand on the wall and the other on her stomach, and thankfully quickly found a washroom. She ducked inside and immediately vomited her dinner into the sink. She coughed and closed her eyes, fumbling about for the tap to wash it away before it made her throw up again. As always, it left her drained, but as she rinsed out her mouth to rid it of the taste, the nausea was already fading. It must have been just some part of dinner that hadn't agreed with her, then. In exhaustion and relief that it wasn't anything serious or something to do with the baby, she sank down onto the floor and curled up as much as she could. Before she knew what she was doing, her eyes had slipped closed and she was asleep.

* * *

**Okay, I know, long wait. But it was a long chapter, too, right? So that helps to make up for it? Probably not. I'm sorry I made you guys wait so long for this, but to be honest I'd lost interest in this story.**

**Anyhow, I'm going to be leaving on holidays at the end of this week, so if I don't finish another chapter by then, it's going to be two weeks or more until I update next. And, if I don't finish a chapter in the week after I'm back from holidays, it's going to be another month before I next update, because I'm leaving for my cottage, where the internet is unheardof. I'm sorry guys, I really am. If I could put a sad smiley here, I would, but smileys get deleted on this site. **


	13. NotsoTabulaRasa?

Where Holly awoke was considerably more cushy than the tiled bathroom floor she'd fallen asleep on. She opened her eyes slowly, indulging them in the time to adjust to the morning light, and saw the top canopy of her four-poster bed above her. She smiled and stretched, reaching up to press the heel of her hand into the wall above her head. Her gaze fell onto a slumped-over, raven-haired form sitting with his head in his arms on the bed.

Her arm snapped back into their normal position and she sat bolt upright. What was he doing here? Why was he in her room? Her _bedroom_, lying in her _bed_? Well, okay, half-lying. Still, it was way beyond enough to make her _extremely_ uncomfortable. Especially when she took note of the fact that she was in her underwear.

Making as little disruption as possible, she shimmied out from under the covers and crept towards her closet, where she knew a bathrobe awaited her. She made it there, grabbed the doorknob cautiously, pulled…

…and flinched as it creaked loudly. A glance over at Artemis told her that she'd woken him, and she whipped the door the rest of the way open and threw herself behind its shelter, stuffing her arms into the white plushiness of the robe and tying it securely around her waist. Finished and now at least clothed somewhat, she stepped outside the closet. Artemis's eyes landed on her at once.

"How are you?" he asked blearily, rubbing at his eyes and then kneading the muscles in his neck.

"Fine," she said, shutting the door behind her.

There was a pause, and then Artemis looked back up at her. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I'm fine," she reiterated, louder this time.

He winced. "I heard you," he mumbled, pushing himself to his feet slowly, "I just… forgot." He shook his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Sorry."

Her brow creased as she watched him support himself against one of her bed's slender wooden pillars. 'Dishevelled' didn't even begin to cover how he looked, and she couldn't help but feel badly for him. How much sleep had he gotten last night? Presuming that it was him who had brought her to her bed, he would have had to excuse himself from the guests, find her, and then carry her—no small feat at her current size.

"You okay?" she asked unnecessarily. He was not okay.

"Yeah," he nodded and turned away, "Just tired." She bit her lip guiltily. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," she said softly, fiddling with her sash. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Good," he muttered, "What happened last night? You were so pale—I… I was worried."

He was worried? She'd known that he would be at least a little (hopefully), but it was kind of nice to hear it from him. It was almost like a compliment, in its own way.

"Did you… did you manage to get any sleep?" Why was this whole thing so awkward? Why was she scared of him seeing her in her underwear? Why was she _stuttering_, for Frond's sake?

"Not really," he said honestly. "I think I did, just for a few minutes before I woke up. I had to make sure you weren't going to throw up again while you were lying down. You know, choking and all that."

She nodded again, touched by his kindest. Hesitantly—there was that shyness again—she took the five steps to him and set a light hand on his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered. He turned, just a little, his eyes looking first at her hand and then at her face. He offered a slight smile and, after another moment of silence, she set her other hand on his shoulder and let them slip downwards, under his arms, and around his chest, meeting in the middle and clasping together, enfolding him in a hug as she laid her cheek against the wrinkled fabric of his suit's undershirt.

He seemed startled by the contact but relaxed quickly, putting his hand over both of hers. She sighed quietly, closing her eyes. It was awfully tempting to kiss him—all she had to do was tilt her head a little and stand on tiptoes and she could reach his neck—but she wasn't willing to risk her dignity should it turn out that he no long felt anything romantic for her.

But, then, he slowly started to turn in her arms, and she found herself staring up at him. Not of her own accord, she realized she was stretching toward him, her chin lifted and her heels rising off the floor, and he wasn't backing away. In fact, he was doing anything but that. His hand, so large in comparison to hers, was at the base of her skull, bringing her ever closer until, just barely, their lips brushed briefly. Oh so briefly.

Holly opened her mouth, not quite touching him but wanting to be, and passed her lips over his again…

And realized what was happening, what she was doing, and all the awkwardness of the moments before she'd touched him came rushing back. She pulled away from him as though he was a live wire, hoping the searing embarrassment she felt wasn't on her face. No, he hadn't resisted, no, he didn't seem to hate her, no, he didn't seem to be embarrassed, yes, he had pulled her to him. So why was she so scared that he had no feelings for her?

She wanted to apologize, to shout that she was sorry and then get the hell out of there, but something was keeping her from opening her mouth. A moment later, as she backed toward the wall in the general direction of the door, she realized she had her fingers on her lips and yanked her hand back to her side. Instead, she pressed her lips together between her teeth and turned, bare feet flying over the marble floor as she made her escape.

"Holly!" Artemis called after her, giving chase and quickly catching her—quite literally. As she went through the doorway, her foot caught on the door and she pitched forward, flinging out her arms reflexively for a harsh impact that didn't come. He caught her with apparent ease and returned her gallantly to her feet. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she said. Hadn't they had this conversation just minutes ago? Granted, it was for a different worry…

"Why are you running?" he asked, his now-wide-awake eyes confused.

"I'm not running," she pointed out, making a motion at her still feet.

"Holly…" he sighed. "You know what I was referring to."

"Yes, I do," she returned and artfully dodged the inquiry, "but I've already answered the question, and a question only gets one answer, or else all the other questions would feel hard done by, wouldn't they?" _Well, that was witty. What's next, you going to pull a rodent out of a hat to distract him while you make a break for it? Why _are_ you running, Holly?_ Ignoring her inner voice, she pulled her arm out of his hand and walked away.

"We can forget that even happened," he called after her, "though I don't see why we should." She stopped. "Why are you so afraid to touch me?"

She turned, hands folded across her chest defensively. "I'm not—"

"You are," he interrupted, "I can see it every time you come near me. It's as if you think I'm going to hurt you. I'm not. It's _me_, Holly." He stepped toward her, stopping just a foot from her, and slowly put a hand to her cheek. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, struggling against her confused feelings. Half of her wanted to badly to throw her arms around him, to kiss him, to take him back though that bedroom door… while the other half prompted memories of the same hand, touching her cheek tenderly, a hundred years ago. That stirred guilt that she had feelings for this newcomer, this clone, this… this _imitation_, and when that came up against the desire for said copy, it was like two fronts meeting. A storm lurked overhead.

So much for her _tabula rasa_.

But then again, he wasn't just a clone. He was more than that, wasn't he? He wasn't just an imitation of an original. The first Artemis would never have acted as this one did, never would've said or done some of the things he'd done, so could she really dismiss him as a copy?

That taken into consideration, she back away to get his hand off her and said, "Yeah, it is you. It's _you_, not him, isn't it?" She shook her head and continued while he watched, looking pained for her tormented expression, "I don't know. I don't know _anything_! He's my _husband_, and I'm having your _baby_?"

"You still love him." It was a question buried shallowly within a defeated statement.

"No!" she put a hand over her right eye, pulling down and away as if to drag away imaginary tears, "I mean… I don't think—no. No, I don't love him, not anymore. But—" Now, the hand wiped away real tears as they bubbled up. "I miss him. I miss him!" The other hand joined its counterpart on the opposite eye and its owner barely managed to dodge a sob with a harsh breath.

The arms that wrapped around her were not, surprisingly, horrible. They were familiar, and when that familiarity was often torturous, for now, they comforted and they held her fast to a warm, solid chest, with a warm, solid heart beating inside it. She put her forehead against that chest, feeling the heartbeat on her skin, and surrendered.

The servant who happened to be bringing new towels for Holly's bathroom was greeted with a rather inappropriate sight for a servant to see. The young Master and his 'guest' were against the wall, their arms around each other, without an inch of space for the Holy Ghost between them.

It was not, of course, as the servant perceived, but the poor girl's mistake can be excused as she only had a passing glimpse of the two, though that was more than she should have seen, because just ten minutes later, the entire laundry staff knew that young Master Ortega and Miss Holly had been making out in the hallway, in plain view for all the world. How indecent!

**Okay, short chapter. But I'm leaving tomorrow for another holiday and I won't be back for a month. So, isn't it better to have it now (and short), than in a month? Right? Anyway, I didn't have time to read it over (sorries), so please pardon my mistakes. I hope I didn't call Holly a he again. I did that in chapter ten or something like that, as a friend pointed out to me. Eheheh. Anyways, see you all in a month!**


	14. Opening the Door

Their relationship returned to surprisingly platonic for a surprisingly long time. Days slipped into weeks and weeks accumulated at the bottom of the hourglass until a month or so had passed, and Artemis received an unexpected message.

Holly had been in the library—yes, the house had a _library_—when Artemis had hurried in, shattering the peaceful silence with the creaking doors, and told her to come with him. She'd followed him up to his study and took the seat he offered her before his computer terminal. He leaned over her shoulder to press several buttons and the wall above the terminal shimmered and transformed into a view of what seemed to be a messy living room. A picture hung askew on the far wall, a picture of two small… centaurs?

A moment later, Foaly's harried-looking face appeared in the way of the crooked picture. He was still looking at something else out of the camera's view, and he called out, "Just a minute, just a minute!" then turned to look at Holly and Artemis.

Holly stared up at him, happy wonder written on her face at seeing such an old friend. He hadn't changed much, really. He'd aged a little, there were a few grey hairs sprinkled in his hair and in what she could see of his coat, but it was certainly the same Foaly she'd known however long ago. He did a double take of her, gaping openly.

"Holly?" he choked.

"Yeah," she said, beaming up at his huge, projected face.

Foaly let out a whoop of joy and pranced in a small circle. "Frond, Holly! I didn't expect to see you there! What are you doing with that Mud Boy?"

"I'm uh…" her smile dimmed only slightly, and she shook her head. "Nevermind. How are things with you?"

"Oh," he grinned, tilting his head to the side a little as if abashed, "pretty good." He paused and his grin widened, "Caballine and I are expecting a foal!"

"Congratulations!" Holly's smile, if possible, grew even bigger.

"Another one," Foaly added.

Holly's grinning jaw dropped. "Another?"

Foaly nodded. "Yeah." He looked off camera again. "Hey, Sidna! Resie!" There was a light clatter of hooves and the tops of two heads of brown curly hair appeared in the camera's view. "This is Holly. She's an old friend of mine."

The two foals stretched upwards and Holly saw their faces. They were identical, adorable, twin boys, each with wide blue eyes and freckles. One, on the left, chirped a 'hi!' and then they disappeared again.

Foaly sighed. "It's this new virtual reality game I developed," he explained, "I just can't get them off it! Or rather, out of it."

Holly quirked an eyebrow but didn't comment. Artemis, still leaning over her and with a gentle hand on her shoulder, took the opportunity to speak up. "How's Caballine?"

"Oh, she's alright," said Foaly, "A little tired, but she's doing pretty well. She's out right now, though, doing some errands."

"Glad to hear it," Artemis replied, and paused briefly. "Was there a reason you called? Or were you just wanting to chat?"

"Ah, yes," said Foaly, obviously having forgotten that there was a world that did not involve his children, "Reason. I have some business in Barcelona, and thought I might stop by your place. If it's alright with you, I mean."

Holly was quite sure Artemis was also wondering what business a centaur could possibly have in the totally Human Barcelona, but he didn't seem to bat an eye. "Sure," he replied easily, "When?"

"Tomorrow, actually," Foaly looked vaguely uncomfortable as he scratched the back of his head. "Kinda forgot about it until yesterday, thought I'd better give you a call."

"I don't think we have anything planned for tomorrow," Artemis said.

Holly shook her head. "No, we're free."

"Well." Artemis smiled slightly. "We'll see you then."

"Yeah," Foaly agreed, glancing over at something off the camera. His eyes widened. "Got to go—see you then!"

The connection shut off and the wall shimmered back into being a wall again. Holly looked up at Artemis, still smiling. "I wasn't expecting that," she said bluntly, "but it certainly was good to see him again."

He nodded, "He'd been pretty busy from what I can tell. He's working for the newer version of Section 8 again, and with two foals… he and Caballine have their hands full."

"It looks like it," Holly agreed, her smile slowly fading. "Did you tell him about all of this?" She gestured vaguely at her abdomen.

Artemis looked as close to sheepish as she'd seen in a _long_ time. "I… no. No, I didn't."

Holly raised her eyebrows ruefully, "That'll be quite the surprise."

He chuckled, "Yes. It'll be… interesting to explain."

* * *

Foaly managed, not surprisingly, to get inside Ortega Manor without being noticed. Holly was walking down a hallway when she heard a faint clatter from behind her a turned, peering suspiciously into the air. There was a sharp gasp, a louder clatter, a thud, a curse, and a horsy leg appeared.

"Foaly?" Holly questioned, mildly amused.

The entire centaur popped into existence in a rustle of cloth, and she watched as he folded up what seemed to be a new-and-improved version of camfoil. "Holly?" Foaly gaped at her belly, "You—you're—I mean—you're—"

"Pregnant, yes," she said coolly, smiling. "It's a long story, though. Put that camfoil back on and follow me. People around here wouldn't take so well to seeing a centaur walking down the hall. Not only are you not human, but you shed."

He feigned being miffed but slipped the large, nearly-invisible cloak back over himself. She headed off for Artemis's study, where he was most likely to be found. She was right, as usual, and he was seated before his computer, fingers tapping away on the desk where the keyboard was projected.

"Artemis," she called, closing the door behind Foaly. He looked up, taking the display glasses off and setting them down. Foaly pulled off the camfoil and grinned broadly as Artemis stood to greet him. They clapped each other on the back in a quick, friendly hug and shook hands.

"Business went well?" Artemis asked, motioning for Foaly to have a seat.

The centaur folded his legs daintily and lowered himself to the marble floor, nodding. "Very well. How are things here?" None too discreetly, he eyed Holly, who was easing into a chair. "You two uh… you're…? I mean, not that I would mind, but seriously, Artemis, I thought you would've told me if you were _married_."

"Nope," Holly replied lightly, "we're not married. As I said, it's a long story."

"Well, seeing as I _am_ staying with you for a week…"

"A week?" Holly echoed, "I don't think so."

"Why not?" Foaly looked miffed.

"You think we can hide you for a week?" she raised an eyebrow. "Besides, why do you want to stay for so long? I thought you and Caballine were really busy."

"Yeah." He looked uncomfortable and pushed himself to his feet. "I have to use the washroom. Is there one anywhere nearby?"

"I'll show you where it is," Holly said, also standing. Artemis helped her up gallantly, an arm around her middle. She gave him a small smile in thanks and motioned for Foaly to follow. He did, after pulling the camfoil over himself again, and as soon as they were out the door, Holly rounded on him. "Is something… wrong? Between you and Caballine, I mean." It was a harsh question, but it was kindly asked.

"No," he replied, too quickly. There was a moment's pause, and then, "Sort of."

She regarded the tiny shimmer that was his face compassionately. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," he muttered, but talk about it he did. "It's just that she's been so… so… I don't know. Emotional, I suppose. She's always either busy with something else, or she's in a bad mood and doesn't want to talk or have anything to do with me."

"Hiding out up here isn't going to help matters," Holly told him factually. When he said nothing, she relented and dropped her stern expression, turning to face him with a small smile. "I know it's hard and it talking things like this over really is not enjoyable, but you have to do it. The longer you put it off, the more unpleasant it's going to get." She stopped and pushed open a door. "Here you go, a washroom."

"I don't have to go," he admitted. Holly sighed and shifted her weight to one foot.

"Foaly—" she began in annoyance.

"I know, I know," he muttered, "I just wanted to talk. I know it's selfish of me, but… I'm still not sure I want to go back."

She relented and gave him a small smile. "I know. But in this case, you don't really have a choice. Stay with us for a day, if you want, but you can't leave Caballine on her own for any longer than that. She has two kids to take care of there—she needs your help, and it's your obligation to do so."

She heard him deflate with a heavy sigh. A moment later, camfoil rustled as he lifted his head again. "You know, I'm supposed to be the smart one here," he said, the grin clear in his voice. She gave a little half-laugh. "Thanks, Holly," he said, more seriously now. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right," she joked, "Aren't I always?"

"Oh, of course, _always_!" he said sarcastically and she phwacked his flank in mock anger, beginning to head back to Artemis's study. After perhaps thirty seconds of silence, Foaly spoke again. "So… are you going to tell me that long story now?"

She looked at the air where he was out of the corner of her eye and gave him the abridged version, stating the facts and brushing over the bits that he didn't _really_ need to know. By the time they stood outside the closed door to the study, she'd finished and Foaly was contemplatively silent. As she reached out to turn the doorknob, he asked, quietly, "Do you love him, Holly?"

Her hand snapped back to her side with a sharp thud. The camfoil had come off his head and shoulders, and he looked… compassionate. "I…"

"I know losing Artemis was hard for you," he said softly, stepping closer and putting a hand on her shoulder. "I want you to be happy, Hol. Is this what you want?"

She looked at him, her lips slightly parted and her brow just barely furrowed. Her eyes strayed aside to the baseboards on her right. "Yes," she said finally. "I do. I'm not sure… if this is what I want—" she looked back up at him, the heel of one hand swiftly removing any tears that might have been gathering, and smiled, "but I love him, and this will work out eventually." And, with that, she opened the door.

* * *

**Okay. Sorry for the HUGE delay! I am considering ending it there, but if enough people complain, then I'll probably continue. Anyhow, I actually am very sorry. Really! I swear. Much apologies!**


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